At the Mercy of the Mind
by Aleine Skyfire
Summary: A great brain can be as much of a curse as a blessing. Updates are now complete! THE FULL BOOK CAN BE FOUND ON AMAZON. #50: Sherlock looked up this time. "If I could hide from you, I can hide from anyone."
1. Murder

**Author's Note:**

The other day, I discovered the LJ community "A Mere Appendix," the sister C2 of "Watson's Woes" in that it's for _Holmes_!angst/torture. I'm not on LJ, but I'm using the first prompt table for a whole new set of stories, all delicious Sherlockian angst. Enjoy!

**==At the Mercy of the Mind==**

_A great brain can be as much of a curse as a blessing. Based on LJ C2 "A Mere Appendix" prompt table 1._

**==1. Murder==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _The fire had been deliberate; his parents had been murdered._  
Warnings: brief violence  
Word Count: 100

The fire had been deliberate; his parents had been murdered. Mycroft believed him. The police did not.

For only the second time in his life, he threw all his powers—his very _soul_—into the task of uncovering the murderer and bringing him to justice. But here, his head was not so level, so calm, as was its wont, and he made mistakes.

And when the man stepped forward to kill _him_, it was Mycroft who shot the fiend clean through the head.

When he visited his parents' grave for the first time, he collapsed against the tombstone and wept.

**

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Author's Note:**

This is actually going to be part of my "Skyfire-canon" history for the Holmes family (with more to come, some day). Poor Sherlock! =(

Next prompt, _nightmare_.

_**Please review!**_


	2. Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

The inspiration for this installation came from something **nomdeplume30 **said in a review on a nightmare sequence in _A Study in_ _Stardom_: "It's not a wonder he avoids sleep if this is what he has to look forward to." Thanks, nomdeplume30! There is sooo much that one can do with this prompt that it's ridiculous.

Thanks also to everybody who's already favorited this fic! *hugs*

**To my reviewers:**

The Pearl Maiden: Thanks, hon! (You just follow me around everywhere, don't you? ^_^ *hugs*)

Spockologist: It does, doesn't it? I'm working out my own backstory for Sherlock and Mycroft, and it's really very interesting. (For one thing, no abusive/negligent parents, as seems to be popular.)

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Thank you!

teenelizabeth: Thank you, hon! I can't wait to _give_ you more!

reflekshun: No problem! Thanks!

**==2. Nightmare==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _After several nightmares, he almost stopped sleeping altogether when his services were engaged._  
Warnings: hint of violence  
Word Count: 150

It began with one of his earliest cases.

After a long, hard day, he drifted off into a restless sleep, dreaming of the family he was trying to protect being ruthlessly murdered because he wasn't fast enough to stop the criminal. The demons conjured by his own formidable brain haunted him to the end of the case, even after he concluded it successfully.

After several similar nightmares over different cases, he almost stopped sleeping altogether when his services were engaged. The nightmares were effectively muddling his mind, and he could not afford to make a mistake. Coffee, tobacco, and the Stradivarius came to accompany him on nights, instead of those horrific dreams.

He was only nineteen years old. His brother feared that he would work himself into an early grave.

Four years later, a retired army veteran took up lodgings with him.

The nightmares continued, but no longer so frequently.

**

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Author's Note:**

So, yes, this is to explain why Holmes doesn't sleep much during cases. With his vivid imagination and brilliant mind, I can only imagine just how terrifyingly real and horrific his dreams of failure would be.

Also, I have him beginning his career at the age of nineteen, and meeting Watson at the age of twenty-three. You can check out this on-site forum thread: http : / / forum . fanfiction . net /topic/6403/35676207/1/ —it explains my reasoning for him being four years younger in my stories than "His Last Bow" suggests. (In fact, if you want to _add_ anything to that thread, _please_ be my guest—I tried to get a discussion started, but nobody seems interested thus far.)

Next prompt is "Grief." Methinks it'll probably be a sequel to the first install.

_**Please review!**_


	3. Grief

**Author's Note:**

This is a sequel to "1. Murder." Fleshing out Sherlock's past is really amazing.

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: Thanks! Heh, hint taken. =)

Spockologist: Thank you! Yeah, the poor boy. =/

reflekshun: You're welcome! _Angst_ brightened your day? …Just teasing. ;D

**==3. Grief==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _Those that knew him thought him too cool concerning his parents' deaths. They didn't know_.  
Warnings: brief mention of drug abuse  
Word Count: 200

There were times when he lay awake at night, haunted by the sound of his mother's voice. He could scarcely play his dear Stradivarius, because it had been Mother's and it recalled too many memories.

In his youth, the other children had thought him odd and even cold, so brilliant a young mind that their own minds shrank away from its light. They hadn't understood. Very few people ever did.

It was not that he did not feel, for he did.

It was that he _felt too deeply_.

His own force of emotion disturbed and frightened him, so he had learned to lock the emotions away beneath a convincing façade. The people that had known him all his life thought him far too cool concerning his parents' deaths.

They didn't see the horrid ache inside, the raw pain that was almost too much to lock away. They didn't see the nightmares, the sleepless nights following, the adoption of a seven-per-cent solution to stimulate an exhausted brain, the long string of cases one after another to keep his mind occupied.

When, nearly twenty years later, he told his best friend "Work is the best antidote to sorrow," he spoke from experience.

**

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Author's Note:**

Ach, more explaining how Sherlock came to be the man we know and love! What's scaring me is that this is all _making sense_. Like the cocaine bit. O.o

Next prompt… Late Nights. (Eesh, this is almost getting repetitive. Number five, "Breathe," will be a breath of fresh air. Lol, bad pun.) I might post up the next install Wednesday, though, because this angst pleases my muse. ;D

_**Please review!**_


	4. Late Nights

**Author's Note:**

The clue is in the summary. What is so special about May 3rd? ^_^

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: I know—don't you just want to hug him and make him feel better? Thank you!

Spockologist: Aw, thanks! That one _was_ my favorite… until I wrote _this_ one. ^_^

reflekshun: Thank you!

**==4. Late Nights==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _It is the third of May. He has not slept for over a week now._  
Warnings: drug abuse  
Word Count: 365

It is the third of May. He has not truly slept—what sleep he gets is now riddled with nightmares—for over a week now. As long as they roam unfamiliar territory, as long as their lives are in danger, as long as the Napoleon of Crime is at large… he cannot.

He _must_ not.

His pocket watch ticks off the seconds till midnight. These late nights have been long, but this one seems even longer. Logically, of course, that is impossible: it is spring, and the nights are waning, not waxing.

But every second feels much longer than it should.

Midnight. He sighs. Time for another dose.

Truth to tell, he doesn't like deceiving Watson like this, making his best friend think that he is in great spirits. He looks forward to the end of this, not with anticipation, but with anxiety. His own life he is prepared to sacrifice.

Watson's life he will never be able to.

Coffee was too much bother to make out in the wild. To get a cup of it now would mean leaving their rooms, and that he refuses to do without Watson.

Right now, the only external substance keeping him alert is the cocaine. The drug also has the side effect of making him a bit... _exuberant_... during the daytime, but that he can endure.

The task of the syringe complete, he leans against the window frame, arms folded, staring out at the starry sky.

_"But the Solar System!"_

_"What the deuce is it to me? You say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work."_

The memory brings a smile, unbidden, to his lips. Good old Watson.

The smile melts away, however, under the solemnity underscoring these last few days. Gazing up at the heavens, he can't help but feel that this is the last moment of peace, however watchful, that he shall know for a long time. The case is hastening towards its climax.

When the first colors of dawn begin to light the sky, he _knows_. He is prepared.

Long night behind him, long day ahead.

**

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Author's Note:**

If KCS could create the 221B drabble, does that mean that I can create the "year drabble"? 365 words? …Y'know what, I'll just say I have. ;D (Btw, my installs have been getting progressively longer, from 100 to 150 to 200 to 365—I don't know that the next one will be longer, though, lol.)

Ahh, good old FINA, just bursting with inspiration for us Sherlockians. I've already done a sort of FINA arc in my _Study in Stardom_, but this installment was great in that it actually took place _during_ the story.

Once again, my little behind-the-scenes explanations are scaring me with the way they make sense—cocaine specifically, this time. O.o

Btw, the words "long day ahead" are from the _Star Wars, Episode VI: Return of the Jedi_ novelization—specifically, the end of the scene between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker on Endor. They were fitting.

Next up, Breathe… an AU—or is it?—of "The Dying Detective."

_**Please review!**_


	5. Breathe

**Author's Note:**

Ta-da! This could have been longer, but once I got typing, it turned into a drabble. *shrugs* Sometime, I'd very much like to do a longer AU of DYIN from Holmes's POV, but it would be heavily based off of the explanation given in KCS and PGF's _Vows Made in Storms_ (**epic** fic, go read it!) so I'd have to ask permission first.

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: No need to blush—I never liked the novel all that much, anyway. Actually, the only episode novelization I think is really good is RotS.

Spockologist: Yeah, the cocaine. …Hmm, I'm using it a lot, aren't I?

O'FoggageGreen: Thank you very much!

reflekshun: You're welcome!

**==5. Breathe==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _Never before in his life has he wanted to **stop breathing**_.  
Warnings: possible disturbia  
Word Count: 100

In, out. In, out. Inhale, exhale.

Breathe. Breathe. _Breathe_.

Amazing, what one takes for granted. Amazing, how the simple act of breathing can be rendered so horridly difficult.

It _hurts_.

His own breathing rattles his lungs, echoes in his aching head. A pang shoots through his cramped abdomen with every gasp.

Never before in his life has he wanted to _stop breathing_.

But he has a dangerous murderer to take down, and so he'll throw every last ounce of his formidable willpower into enduring this. He _will_ survive this tropical disease.

And he swears that Culverton Smith _will_ see justice.

**

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Author's Note:**

Ohhh, poor Sherlock! Now this time, I can empathize with him at least a little, 'cause I _know_ what it's like to breath past severe cramping. It is literally _torture_, no joke.

Next prompt is… Shoot. Oh boy, there're infinite possibilities with that one. But… I'm afraid y'all will have to wait until Wednesday to find out what I'll do with it. =)

_**Please review!**_


	6. Shoot

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: Thank you! …Do you mean the prequel trilogy or the Clone Wars? I like 'em both ('specially Ahsoka). =)

O'FoggageGreen: Thanks! Well, that piece was meant to actually fit into the real story, which would then make Holmes's explanation of his "acting job" a lie. But you're right, the possibilities _are_ endless.

Spockologist: Oh, veeery funny. *Jack Benny deadpan look* Really? Neat, thanks!

insideouttuoedisni: First off, thanks for all the lovely reviews! Second, I felt that _something_ had to happen to his parents—they're never mentioned. And like the title of this collection implies, having a brilliant mind isn't always a blessing—your bad memories are sharper, your nightmares are more vivid. Lastly, yes, Holmes always seems invincible, and I love bringing him to the point where he isn't since, as you say, it's cool to see him struggling. He's that much more human then, and we can relate to him better.

reflekshun: Thanks! I think that DYIN is one of my favorite stories, and though I haven't seen the whole Granada episode, I have seen the climax between Holmes and Smith, and that was great.

nomdeplume30: Thank you! And, ha-ha, cute paraphrase. =)

**==6. Shoot==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _He slumps against the wall, gasping for breath and clutching his side. His hand comes away slick with blood._  
Warnings: very light gore and brief violence  
Word Count: 150

He slumps against the wall, gasping for breath and clutching his side. With each breath, he can feel his insides tear further, exacerbating the damage.

His hand comes away slick with blood, and he wipes it gently against the wall before reaching for his revolver once more. He regards it a moment only—then, with grim resolve, cocks the hammer. Biting back a cry of pain, he pushes himself off the wall and stumbles forward.

Once outside the warehouse, he moves as stealthily as he can in the midnight gloom until at last he sees his target. The man who left him for dead.

His quarry looks back and sees him.

He cups his left hand around his right and aims.

The other man's own gun comes up.

A shot rings out.

Weary, he collapses.

Just before the darkness overtakes him, he hears a frightened voice call out his name…

**

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Author's Note:**

Oh gee, cliffhanger. What do you think happened? (I actually have the whole thing set in my head, so next time in an author's note, I'll give it to you straight. =D)

Next prompt… Fire. Hmm, what to do, what to… oh! *snaps fingers* Got it! ^_^ See y'all Monday!

_**Please review!**_


	7. Fire

**Author's Note:**

CONTINUED BY IMPLIED POPULAR DEMAND. …Lol. In other words, I was originally going to do something else for this prompt (I'll probably keep that idea for a later date); but with the reviews I got last time, I figured I'd better do a sequel instead of leaving the thing as a oneshot. ^_^

I really love it that I've had you guys in such suspense! I've… rarely been able to accomplish that… usually 'cause I don't have cliffhangers, I think. (Boy, just wait until ATtH is almost done… my readers will be ready to kidnap me for updates… *shifty eyes*)

(What I find interesting is that prompt number _six_ in this table is "shoot." You see, the _Sixth_ Commandment is "You shall not murder," and in pictorial representations for kids, the number six is sometimes turned into the image of a pistol. I wonder if KCS thought of/knew that when she was creating the prompt table?)

Btw, thanks to everybody who's favorited!

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: Ohhh, the _books_. I've read the Wookieepedia articles on the FotJ series and, yes, it is so totally wrong it's pathetic. Of course, every post-NJO book has been, really, with the possible exception of Karen Traviss' _Revelation_ in the LotJ series—_that_ one was good, even though she killed off poor Pellaeon. *sniff-sniff* (Btw, I do SW fic too if you ever want to check it out. *is incorrigible*) Anyway… you'll "tell Holmes something"? _What_, pray tell? ^_^

Spockologist: Oops, sorry about that! (No, not really, lol.) Silly girl! =)

valeskathesilverwolf: *laughs* That's okay. Thanks for reviewing!

O'FoggageGreen: Thank you very much! Ha-ha, you're not delusional, and that was a very good guess—only, the characters were kind of switched around. ^_^

reflekshun: Ooo, cookie! _Muchas gracias_! *munches on cookie* Imp? Tee-hee, I've never been called that before. =D

Kadigan: *grins widely* Thanks!

**==7. Fire==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _It was so hot. He struggled against the suffocating heat_.  
Warnings: none *gasp*  
Word Count: 200

It was so hot. He struggled against the suffocating heat, but something pressed him down. An indistinct voice kept speaking to him—though he didn't recognize the voice, he trusted it, tried to relax to its sound.

But, oh, it was fire! Fire, fire, fire! He was _burning_.

_Dear God, __**help**_…

At one point, he hazily realized that he'd fallen asleep and was now waking up. It was still hot, but he was no longer on fire. That voice was speaking again.

"…got him, Holmes. You got him. The case was a success, do you hear? You can… you can wake up now. Please, Holmes, you must wake up. The fever is past. You came through the crisis, Holmes—now you can wake up. Please, Holmes… _Sherlock_. _Please_."

He was _trying_, but his eyelids felt so _heavy_…

At last, he managed to open his eyes. A fearful, familiar face swam before his vision, and it took his exhausted brain a moment to put a name to it. "Watson," he breathed past cracked lips.

The worried face broke out into a joyful smile. "Holmes! Thank God!"

"I admire… your strength, Doctor," Sherlock Holmes smiled wanly. "Being shot is… no trifling matter."

**

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Author's Note:**

So for the record, the person in the previous fic was Holmes, who: a) was shot and left for dead, b) shot his would-be murderer before the man could shoot, and c) heard Watson call out his name before blacking out. And in this fic, he's had a fever (infection from bullet).

And Watson calls him _Sherlock_! D'awww! (I really didn't see that one coming till it came!)

Next up… Missing. Oooo! *rubs hands evilly* Next time will have to be Friday… I'm going to start updating this just once a week, on Fridays. If you want to read my explanation in full, you check out the latest chapter of _A Study in Stardom_. *cheeky grin* No, that was so _not_ a plug—I just don't want to repeat the big announcement.

_**Please review!**_


	8. Missing

**Author's Note:**

Note to self: severe angst + torture (however mild) = PROFIT. xDDD Well, the last two _did_ rake in the reactions. =D

_This_ one was originally going to be about Holmes gone missing, but it wasn't working out. Thankfully, this idea hit me, and I went with it. Longest installment yet!

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: Thanks! …Holmes would never believe you. He knows that he's in more danger from than Watson is. *equally evil laugh* What do I have in mind… what, for this install or for ATtH? If it's the latter… ha, not even my beta truly knows! ^_^ Middle of the Vong war… yeah, that sounds about right. I'd only go for a rewrite of the EU if it's Zahn—no _Clone Wars_ rewrites, thanks. I _hate_ what the series has done to the Mandalorians, the Mandalorians that Karen Traviss so lovingly crafted!

Protector of the Gray Fortress: Gasp, 'tis an illustrious author come to honor my humble writings! =D *bows* Thank you, I _am_ pure evil. *laughs* Thanks for the review!

Spockologist: Thank you! If it's done right, I love first name usage! We have Jeremy!Holmes saying _John_, but we never have Watson (other than Martin Freeman, lol) saying _Sherlock_.

reflekshun: Thanks! Ooo, M&Ms! *starts munching*

O'FoggageGreen: Pretty nearly right! Oh, no worries about reviewing! Now you're going to have the whole week long to do it! =D And your saying "you manage to keep both of them in character" gave me thrills! That's what every fanfic writer wants to hear! Thank you!

medcat: Ah, another illustrious author! Thank you for the lovely review! *blushes at praise*

**==8. Missing==**

Rating: K  
Summary: _I miss my Boswell, dreadfully. I never realised till now how very large a part of my life he was._  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 404

I know that I must continue on this course I have chosen, that there is no turning back now. I do this not only for myself but for the sake of my dearest friend.

But, dear God, it comes at such a heavy price. For Watson, the death of a dear friend. For myself, the loss of a treasured companion.

The saying that you do not know what you have until you have lost it is only too true. I miss my Boswell, dreadfully. I never realised till now how very large a part of my life he was. My bodyguard, my physician, my biographer, my assistant, my confidante.

And something more than that, something indefinable.

There is a physical ache in my heart as I pen these words. The emotional, impulsive part of myself—the part that I suppress so often and so well—wants nothing more than to give up this lie, return to Baker Street, and beg Watson's forgiveness for deceiving him. This irrational desire I must also suppress, bury it down deeply where it shall not trouble me.

Not trouble me? No, I cannot say that. I have misled everyone else, but I will not mislead myself.

Oh, my dear Watson, dearest and best of friends. I, an exile doomed to wander for Heaven knows how long, miss you so terribly. I pray that when I return—for return I shall, this I swear—you will forgive me for deceiving you. To live the rest of my life without your companionship… I could not bear it. I could never bear it.

I am not as strong as you think me. I am not without a heart—it beats, and it aches fiercely with the desire to see you again. I am not unfeeling; rather, I feel far too deeply. So deeply that it frightens me.

Never again will I take our friendship for granted, I promise you.

I am rambling, and in rather a melodramatic fashion, I fear. It is late, and tomorrow, I must be off before the dawn. I have telegrammed Mycroft, and await a reply from brother mine. My money is nearly gone, and I desperately need more to affect a complete disappearance.

I should be drifting in the embrace of Morpheus right now. But every time I close my eyes, I see Watson on that ledge, crying out for me.

Dear God, what have I done?

**

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Author's Note:**

Sooo… this is just a couple of days post-Reichenbach, and Holmes is still on the run. As I typed, this thing kept growing and growing. It was lovely!

Next up (and don't forget this'll be next Friday)… Darkness. HMMM… Maybe Moriarty…? Dunno! Come back next week and find out! =D

_**Please review!**_


	9. Darkness

**Author's Note:**

Hmm, yeah, I _said_ next Friday, but I have a good reason for posting this install today and the sequel on Saturday. ^_^ Wanna hear it? Well, yesterday, I had this really awesome idea—why not take this collection of shorts and turn it into a book and publish it? As long as I stay out of the _Casebook_ (which, unfortunately, includes 3GAR), I will be safe on copyright issues.

So! That's what I plan to do. I am going to get all 100 of these prompts filled out as fast as I can (and these things _really_ fire my muse—why _shouldn't_ I make a living on something I love?), and then I'll publish them as a collection, still under the same title. However, I will post only 50 of those prompts up here on FFN, so that you have to buy the book to read the rest. (Hey, don't give me that look! How else am I supposed to make money?)

**To my reviewers:**

Spockologist: Thank you! I debated on that last line, you know—and in the end, I just decided to stick with it. And about Martin Freeman… oh, come on, people don't _call_ each other by their last names anymore! Only time it's done in the show is regarding Lestrade, Anderson, and victims.

valeskathesilverwolf: Thanks!

Moonspun Dragon: Thank you! (Btw, I've read your second chapter—I'll have to review later, but I love it! =D) Proof? What is this proof? *snatches notebook* HA! LIES, ALL LIES! …O.o I scare myself. Anyway… CW!Mandos or Traviss!Mandos? 'Cause Traviss!Mandos are _awesome_! They're… _Celtic_, actually! =D Totally agree with you about _Black Fleet_ and _Crystal Star_. *shudders with you* I mean, if the EU's going to be rewritten, I want Zahn to be the one to write it. Grand Master? What do you mean?

reflekshun: Thank you! Oh, that poem is beautiful—thanks for sharing it! Would you mind if I quoted sometime in my fics (like ATtH)? Crediting you, of course. It's just really perfect to coincide with some stuff I have planned.

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Aw, thank you! *blushes* It reminds you of one of your poems, too? …Wow!

**==9. Darkness==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _The blackness is deep, penetrating, infinite. He tries to push back the black clawing at his mental faculties._  
Warnings: disturbia, mention of drugs  
Word Count: 200

The blackness is deep, penetrating, infinite. It pushes up against his body, thrums in his ears, sets its hands around his throat, seeps into his mind.

A living thing, this darkness. A presence all of its own, not a mere absence of light.

He tries to push back the black clawing at his mental faculties, whispering words of madness. It takes all of his weakened willpower to bite back a cry of anguish; and even as he does it, he does not know why he bothers. This insanity will take hold, regardless of his feeble protests.

He hears a sound from beyond the darkness—or does he imagine it? No, it is a real sound, because he hears the door start to creak open. Light abruptly floods in to replace the darkness, and he sluggishly raises manacled hands to shield his eyes, lest they go blind.

A tall silhouette looms in the doorway, kindly casting its shadow over him. He cannot see the face, but the slow turning of the head from side to side leaves no doubt in his drugged mind.

_T__hose dark hours when the powers of __evil are exalted._

This, then, is the end of the game.

**==To Be Continued==**

**

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Author's Note:**

Oooo, moar evil cliffies! ^_^ The sequel, "Light," will come Saturday. It's already written, and I warn you now, it's not at all nice. If you think "Shoot" and "Fire" were bad… oooo, is this worse!

Cookis to whoever recognizes the italicized line!

_**Please review!**_


	10. Light

**Author's Note:**

Updated a day early. I spoil you guys. xD

I think I can get this published by summer. The next install is already written. =) Btw, _this_ installment… is pretty serious. I mean, I've read worse, but this is pretty bad as it is.

Oh, and cookies to four of you for placing the quote! I think it was KCS's _Powers of Evil_ that drew my attention to it. So, yeah, _Hound of the Baskervilles_.

**To my reviewers:**

nomdeplume30: Thanks, and nope, not good at all.

Moonspun Dragon: *snatches back notebook* You can prove NOTHING! HA! …Okay, we'd better stop this. I don't want people to think I'm losing it. xD Anyway… don't worry, I will _definitely_ let you know when the book is out. (The trumpet fanfare should be a big clue. ^_^)

Spockologist: Thanks! Creepy, yes! =)

O'FoggageGreen: *grins* I don't mean to torture _you_, just Holmes. ^_^ And don't worry, I'll make sure you know where to buy the book!

reflekshun: Oh, thank you! Both for the review and for the permission!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Here ya go!

**==10. Light==**

Rating: PG-14  
Summary: _This is not life, and he can no longer recall what life is like._  
Warnings: drug use, torture  
Word Count: 760

The world is a haze of shadows tinted red. Every touch upon his person is agony; every blow is unspeakable torment. His heart crashes against his ribcage so forcefully that it is a wonder it does not burst out of him altogether.

Through this existence of pain—for this is not life, and he can no longer recall what _life_ is like—a voice penetrates to his very soul. It is kind, this voice—soothing and benign. Mesmerizing, even.

It calls him by name and gently reasons with him.

It is not the voice of his brother, nor is it the voice of his best friend. Some small part of him is able to realize this. It is that part that warns him that, although he knows the voice, he should not trust it.

But the voice wants his pain to end. Why shouldn't he trust it?

The voice asks him about the smuggling ring he was ferreting out in East End. Why does it ask about that? He can hardly even recall—those memories belong to another man, another life, far away from this darkness and pain, if such a thing is possible.

Something that he vaguely identifies as a hand brushes against his cheek, and he whimpers. It _hurts_. The voice continues, and he _thinks_ the hand is connected to the voice. Why won't it stop touching him? Can't it see that it's hurting him? He writhes feebly on a cold, hard surface, and the pressure on his cheek _intensifies_.

Unable to bear it any longer, he screams.

The voice hastens to reassure him. His pain can end. He simply needs to reveal the whereabouts of some incriminating documents, and he will be released. He can leave not only the pain, but the darkness, too. This infinite darkness which has trapped him—_suffocated_ him—for so long. He can be _free_.

He wants so terribly to yield to that voice.

_But_.

But, there remains a small piece of _himself_ left. The man with the swift, brilliant mind who takes life to be an exercise in intellect, a puzzle to be forever worked upon and never solved. The man with an appalling quantity of self-confidence who guards a great heart jealously and allows only one man to glimpse at it on occasion.

And it is this piece of himself that _knows_ that if he yields, he will lose.

The red tint is fading away, as is the voice and the pain, all swallowed by that omnipresent black. There is not much time left for him, that small piece of himself realizes. So be it. If he must, he will take his knowledge with him to the grave. His victory lies in death.

Gradually, something soft and golden bleeds into his vision, and his brain works for a minute before it can put a name to the phenomenon.

_Sunlight_.

It is golden and pure and warm, and it reaches out to him. He will follow it. He knows, and he is ready.

Until he hears a voice. It is not the voice from before—this new voice is completely different. It is weary and thick with unshed tears. And it is pleading.

"Dear God, I am not a man of prayer. But I know not what else to do."

This voice is keeping him from that light. He stays where he is, because he wants to know why he is hearing that voice, who it is, what it will say.

"He has been missing for so long. And now, tonight, I've had this horrible feeling. Perhaps it's a premonition; perhaps it's nothing at all. But I cannot shake off the feeling that something terrible is happening to him right now. Please, dear Lord, let him live. Bring him back to me. I've lost so many people I've loved. Please do not take _him_ now, too. _Please_."

He finally places a name to the voice, and realization comes crashing down on him, breaking his heart.

_Watson_.

He knows he is one of the very few friends the good Doctor has, and the only close friend. He cannot abandon Watson like this. He _will_ not.

He would have died for a secret. But he will live now, for a friend.

He shuts his eyes, longing to look upon the light, longing to follow it.

But he_ shall not_.

Sherlock Holmes turns away from the light and wills himself to begin the long, hard trek back to a world of darkness. He does it for one who needs him more than Heaven does.

**==Fin==**

**

* * *

Author's Note:**

Wow. I haven't written anything like this in a _long_ time. Not only have I _not_ lost my touch, I've gotten _better_! *whoops* I actually love this one. Seriously.

I had this long explanation about how this could possibly fit into Canon, but I didn't have time to type it out. Pretty soon, though, I'll have a Moriarty fic out, and I'll just explain it in there. ^_^ (Check the latest chapter of _Study_ for spoilers.)

Next up (quite possibly Monday)… Choke. No, it's not what you think. ;-)

_**Please review!**_


	11. Choke

**About the book format:**

All right, people! I want some opinions here!

Question 1: Would you like to see illustrations in the book? (Probably pencil drawings. Check this link for a sample: https : / / picasaweb . google . com / ringsaberwardrobe / SherlockianFanArt#5578714556368090066 Of course, I'd have to figure out my own Holmes image, 'cause I couldn't use drawings of an actual person, i.e. Jeremy Brett. Bummer, ain't it.)

Question 2: Are there any stories you would like to see expanded? Previous stories, and let me know if there are any future ones, too. (E.g. the very first chapter, "Murder," could be expanded, but it also might well lose its poignancy if you add to that one hundred words.)

Item 3 (not a question): I got several ideas yesterday morning for stories, and I think I can maybe do a story a day at present. Pray that I can up that to _two_ a day, please! I want to be all over this like Sherlock on the Moriarty case!

Item 4: All you readers of _A Study in Stardom_ should be delighted to hear that several bits from that set should make it into this one, albeit in an edited (non-Granada) form to fit canon! Specifically, the installments revolving around Holmes's nightmare in the "Not-So-Final-Problem" arc, which are really too good to leave out of a Holmes!angst collection. (I'm still ridiculously proud of those pieces. =D)

Item 5: Not all of these stories will be angsty, after all—or at least, some will have happy or hopeful endings like "Fire" and "Light." That's not quite in keeping with the torturing spirit, but if this is going to be an actual _book_ that I want you guys to read _all the way through_… I think I'd better toss in some variety, don't you?

**

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STATUS: 13 out of 100 complete**

* * *

Btw, thanks to everybody who's favorited!

And lastly… remember, kids: severe angst + torture = PROFIT. The past two chapters really got you guys to review. ;D

**

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To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: *tries not to laugh at evil laugh, fails* No, that was Moriarty, and it could be AU—and then again, it might not be. It depends on how you work out the conflicting canonicity of FINA, EMPT, and VALL. D'awww, thanks. =)

Elerrina Star: Thank you for reviewing, and for telling me that you've been reading my stuff! I feel warm and fuzzy inside now. =D And wow, I actually made you cry and left you speechless? I am truly flattered! (And thanks for saying that you'll buy a copy!)j

Spockologist: Awww, sweetie! *hands you Kleenex box* Watson's prayer was definitely one of my favorite bits.

sagredo: Thank you so very much for such a lovely review—I was seriously on Cloud Nine after I read it! I am very honored.

O'FoggageGreen: Thank you very much! Ooo, awesome sauce on cookies! Here… *hands you one* I like to share my treats. =)

reflekshun: Thank you! Seeequel~? *whining voice, groans* I knew somebody was going to ask that! Why do you think I put _Fin_ on the bottom, there? Ohhh… -_- All right, all right, there'll be a sequel. You'll just… have to wait… …Maybe even a _prequel_, hmm…

Joan Jett The Runaway: Thank you! All right, here's a quick summary: Holmes is captive and drugged (to the point where he has an extremely low pain tolerance), is tortured by Moriarty almost to the point of insanity, realizes this and wills himself to die, is almost dead when he hears Watson praying for him (divine intervention—Watson was _not_ there), and wills himself to live. Hope that explains everything!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Thank you! Well, I meant to post back in the forum after a couple of days—honest, I did!—but I got busy, and Thursday morning was the first peaceful morning (i.e. computer time) I'd had in over a week, and I wanted to enjoy it. I can barely keep up with everything everybody says, and by the time I have an opening in my triage to post, there's always so much that's happened since my last reply and so much that I want to say. You know my last post took me half an hour? That constitutes about a third of my 'Net time! Things like that… discourage me… I'll see about posting sometime this week, 'kay?

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**==11. Choke==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _The wasted form on the bed was not—__**could**__ not—be his brother_.

Warnings: none  
Word Count: 150

He flung open the door and froze. The wasted form on the bed was not—_could not_—be his brother.

But the grey eyes that fluttered open at the banging of the door cruelly shattered that childish hope. They were his own eyes. They were Mycroft's.

"Do… keep the noise down, Sherlock… there's a good fellow?" Mycroft's weak voice trailed off into a bout of coughing.

Sherlock Holmes hung in the doorway, afraid to step into the room and unwilling to leave. All his life, his elder brother had been a godlike figure, possessed of a keener intellect and a sterner heart. Even in their brotherly spats, Sherlock had idolized him.

To see the great man now, reduced to _this_…

An enormous lump formed in his throat. Steeling himself, Sherlock stepped into the room. "Brother mine…" He blinked at the abrupt moisture in his eyes and choked down a sob.

**

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Author's Note:**

No, this will NOT have a sequel. NAY, I SAY! …Ahem, yes, anyway… Don't you worry too much about Mycroft—I don't know what exactly he's been through, but whatever it is, he'll live. He just needs a lot of R&R (and no, I don't mean "read and review" *snickers*). …Okay, okay, so he'll need a _lot_. He'll still live. I love him too much. ^_^

Next up… Helpless, on Wednesday. 'Tis already written, and I love it to pieces. Not like I love "Light," but this one delves into an era that we see deplorably little of in fanfiction. Guess and see if you're right!

_**Please review!**_


	12. Helpless

**UPDATE ON THE BOOK:**

There's so much going on about this right now that I can't even tell you guys all of it! xD But here's the most important thing—most likely, I will be publishing this as e-book format through **Amazon Kindle**. If you don't have a Kindle, don't panic: you can download Kindle PC software, and _that_ is free. I may be selling this at as a little as $3 a purchase (_maybe_, so don't quote me on the cost), but considering that I'd keep a whopping 70 percent of the money…

Oh, and the very same day I posted the last chapter, I actually whipped out _six_ installments. SIX. Of course, compare that to yesterday, when I did only one. But at least that one was longer (even longer than "Light"), _and_ I had some trouble starting it out, _and_ I was busy with legitimate responsibilities around the house. Here's hopin' I'll do better today.

By the way, from now on, you're going to see a copyright notice above each story title (as well as in anything I post nowadays that I could legally reprint someday for profit). My legal counsel (i.e. my dad) insisted. *shrugs*

**Status: 19 out of 100 complete.**

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: Yeah, I, um, know what you mean about, um… *clears throat* Unfortunately, I've always had a problem with drawing males. -_- I'll try to do better… anyway, you have to admit the top hat pic was spot-on. *rolls eyes, tries not to grin, fails* I don't do blackmail, kiddo. ;D

Elerrina Star: Oh no, I love Mycroft too dearly to kill him, honest! =) …After all that I'm doing to him, poor Holmes needs _lots_ of hugs. ^_^

Spockologist: I was planning on expanding "Choke" a little bit. We'll see. ;D Keep on being excited, 'cause I sure am!

LeDragonQuiMangeDuPoisson: Thank you very much! Well, the last… 50 for sure (possibly more) you'll have to buy the book to read. *points above* =D But thank you very much for the love!

reflekshun: "Nightmare"? Hmm… that's… possible… We'll see. Yup, yay for _Study_! *giggles at the "variety" line* My best friend likes to say that sometimes. =D Thank you!

_

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

**

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==12. Helpless==**

Rating: K+  
Summary: _All the wars that had occurred during his lifetime had never before intruded upon his life. But this one was different._  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 150

All the wars that had occurred during his lifetime had never before intruded upon his life, save the one that had brought a wounded army veteran into his inner circle. But this one… this one was different. This one not only required _his_ active participation, but it also required the active participation of his dearest friend.

He did his part on the home front, working with intelligence and Room 40. It paled inestimably in comparison to the part Watson played out on the frontlines, in the service of the field hospitals and the trenches.

He treasured each missive, censored though it always was, from the Doctor. His only link to a happier time—oh, how long ago it seemed!—lay across the Channel, engaged in the greatest conflict the world had ever seen.

As the reports came in of fresh myriads of casualties, he had never before felt so helpless.

**

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Author's Note:**

WWI-era, FTW! You're going to be seeing more—a _lot_ more, I think—of this mostly-untouched period of their history from me, trust me!

Next up on Friday… Negotiate. Watson finally takes a more active role in these stories. ;D

_**Please review!**_


	13. Negotiate

**UPDATE ON THE BOOK:**

Just that my dad finished reading the 17 stories I printed out for him and my mom to read. He was blown away—he couldn't believe that I had written them (he hasn't read _any_ of my fiction in a couple of years). _That_ made me _really_ happy. =)

Btw, I've just created a blog that's for all of my Sherlockian stories, both to-be-published and FFN-only stories. Here, I'll be talking about inspirations and ideas and spoilers for stuff, as well as just all things Sherlockian. Please keep track of it and comment! http : / / studysherlockiana . blogspot . com /

IF ANYBODY HAS ANY STORY IDEAS THEY'D LIKE TO SEE IN THIS COLLECTION, _PLEASE_ LET ME KNOW!

…Ha-ha, I almost forgot to update today. Boy, you guys are lucky that I remembered about 5pm EST yesterday—"Oh! *facepalm* I've got an _installment_ to post tomorrow!" xDDD Btw, I was experimenting with a different style of storytelling on this one. Let me know how you think it works!

**Status: 23 out of 100 complete, as of 3/4/11.**

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: Thank you! *bows* …Well, I don't! Hmph! *nose in the air*

Spockologist: Never fear, darling! You can download a PC version of the Kindle software FOR FREE from Amazon. We did it the other night—it totally works. I'd like to do good old-fashioned books, too, but there's a good chance that I might not make any profit, or even break even. With Kindle publishing, Amazon takes only 30 percent for letting you use their services, and that's it! …Oh, honey, your laptop's crashed! I feel so deeply for you, really! *big bear hug* …WWI fics are AWESOME.

O'FoggageGreen: Thank you very much! As far as drawings go, I'll work on that mouth—male lips screw me up so badly. -_- Glad you liked the sketchdump, though. …Be forewarned that future WWI may make you cry. Seriously.

Elerrina Star: Yeah, I'm kinda the same. *sighs* Ever read _Five Ways to Stop a Friend from Reenlisting_? That's the one actually rather humorous WWI fic out there, and I love it to pieces. …Anyway… Thank you!

reflekshun: Thank you, thank you—you may kiss my hand. ;D

_

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

**

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==13. Negotiate==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _"I refuse to tolerate your—your __**self-destruction**__—any longer!"_

Warnings: discussion of drug abuse  
Word Count: 150

"Holmes, you really must stop this!"

Waves a languid hand. "Doctor, pray, calm yourself."

"I will not! I refuse to tolerate your—your _self-destruction_—any longer! You must give up that infernal cocaine!"

Half turns away, looks down at pipe. "I admit, my dear fellow, that it is a poor substitution for your own stimulating company. But the place gets deucedly lo—_empty_, sometimes."

Eyes widen in realization. "Do you mean… oh, my dear fellow! But… oh, _blast_, Holmes, you cannot continue this path of gradual suicide simply because I'm married and moved out!"

Sighs. "Watson—"

"Holmes, let's make a deal, shall we? You give up the cocaine for one month, and I'll assist you with _all_ of your cases for that length of time."

Slowly looks up from pipe. "And after that?"

"One step at a time, my dear fellow. We'll take this one step at a time."

**

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Author's Note:**

D'awww! Poor Holmes! You know, we have only two known periods in his life in which he was using cocaine regularly: pre-SIGN (_Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance_ …O.O) and pre-SCAN (_alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition_ [in the months following Watson's wedding]). The former we may attribute to a deplorable lack of cases, although GREE (and mostly likely VALL, as well) _had_ to have happened that year. The latter may very well have been the result of loneliness. I'm not sure when exactly this particular scene would have occurred.

So, whaddaya think of the style? Just... trying something different, y'know? Kinda like a script.

Next up on Monday… Blind. Be prepared to give the victim some hugs.

_**Please review!**_


	14. Blind

**UPDATES:**

"22. War" and "24. Trapped" took deucedly long to figure out. "War" went through three drafts and countless ideas before I finally got it right, and I am now quite satisfied. Unfortunately, these two prompts also bogged down my creative juices and, therefore, my progress. …Blast.

Btw, please check out Saturday's post on my new Sherlock blog—it has a link to an article that will blow you away. It blew me away—had me in a near-euphoric high after being in a depressive low. (…Ever since learning what bipolar disorder is ((because of Jeremy Brett)), I've wondered if maybe _I_ have a mild case… Probably not, but, ya know… paranoia.) Anyway, the article that I link to is the case for the reality of Dr. _James_ Watson. Check it out: it is so _totally_ worth reading!

Also… you lucky people—you're getting a continuation to "9. Darkness" and "10. Light." In fact, you're not only getting a _sequel_—you're also getting a _prequel_. Buuut, since these are being posted in order, you're going to have to wait a bit. Hey, at least you know they're coming!

**Status: ****as of 3/6/11****, 25 out of 100 complete—A FULL QUARTER!**

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: Thank you! …I don't _have_ to keep telling myself—myself already knows. xD Watson's just a big sweetie. *hugs him* …Nuh-uh! I couldn't have given away more than that! Besides, you only had to wait for it… 72 hours. Big deal. xDDD

Spockologist: Thank you! Mm, maybe Holmes _wouldn't_ have stopped himself had the scene been _post_-Hiatus, but it wasn't. Poor darling. Thanks for commenting on the blog! And HURRAY for your laptop! *wishes I could have the same luck, sighs*

Elerrina Star: *pats shoulder* There, there! Holmes _is_ kind of like a little lost puppy there, isn't he? Thank you!

reflekshun: Thank you!

_

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

**

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==14. Blind==**

Rating: K+  
Summary: _All his senses were equally keen, and all equally regarded, but to be robbed of just one of them was nothing short of horrific._ (AU)  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 412

To say that it was hard would be the severest understatement of the century. It nearly drove him mad. All his senses were equally keen, and all equally regarded, but to be robbed of just one of them was nothing short of horrific.

And to be robbed of _sight_, out of all the senses, was utterly unbearable.

His sharp eyes were one of his greatest assets, the sense that allowed him to take note of so many important little details. Deprived of that asset, he knew he could no longer continue in his career.

It nearly drove him mad.

Maneuvering around the house was easy enough, and even maneuvering through the city was quite doable, between his still-sharp ears, his walking stick, and his impeccable knowledge of London geography. He had once casually but seriously claimed that he could traverse London blindfolded. He found his words now put to a bitter test, one that he passed.

Even so, he underwent numerous crises as he discovered new limitations. One morning, he rose from his armchair to start a chemical experiment at the deal table, and realized that it was too dangerous for him to work with his chemicals without seeing what they were. In a pique of angry desperation, he hurled his pipe at the mantle.

Watson had to hand it back to him.

The good Doctor was his source of sanity in all this—his anchor, his port in the storm. Never before had he fully realized how truly blessed he was to have such an incredible friend—not even his three-year absence had produced such a profound appreciation of the fact, though it had indeed come close.

When Lestrade made an attempt to help the sightless detective by bringing what the inspector thought to be an armchair case, Sherlock Holmes knew that he would have to go to the scene of the crime to get any real results. Or, at least, he _would_ have gone, only a month ago.

One month since a blow to the head had darkened his world forever.

His spirit rebelled at the idea of helplessness—always had and always would. In that moment of defiance, he stood and said, "Come, gentlemen, we must be off."

He heard Watson spring to his feet. "But, Holmes, you can't possibly—"

"Of course, I can, my dear fellow." Holmes turned toward the sound of Watson's voice with half a wry smile. "You shall simply have to be my eyes."

**

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Author's Note:**

This _is_ AU, okay? As in, Holmes is _permanently_ blind here. And hey, no rotten tomatoes or anything—I just did what the prompt inspired. It's the prompt's fault (and consequently, KCS's). *snickers*

…The poor thing. C'mon, guys, time for group hug! *hugs Sherlock*

Next Wednesday… "Haunt." And don't worry, evil ghosts need not apply.

_**Please review!**_


	15. Haunt

**Author's Note:**

Okay, I know I'm HOURS late in the day to be posting this. I feel bad about it, but I can't actually say that I'm _sorry_, because it truly wasn't my fault. I found myself down this morning with the severest case of vertigo I've ever experienced, and I think it was mostly brought on by stress. I'm pleased to report that I'm doing better now, but prayers for a full recovery and no relapses would be greatly appreciated.

Also, to all my _Study in Stardom_ readers, I am afraid I can't post either today or tomorrow—my muse has suddenly decided to abandon me as far as that story is concerned. I'm trying to get her back on it, but it may take till next week before I can get the next install out. I'm so sorry!

On a lighter note, comments from more than one person (Spockologist) on m'blog might be nice, lasses (and lads, too!). Btw, expect to see childhood fics in here in the future! =D _Happy_ childhood, mind you—I don't hold to all that abusive/negligent parent stuff. ;D

**Status: 26 out of 100 complete.**

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: …You could have commented on the _blog post_ itself, y'know. :P Anyway, yes, it does—and that article gave me two plot bunnies. ^_^ Hey, you bring Holmes back here—I need him! *giggles at the quote* You'll see~! Thanks!

Spockologist: Thank goodness for Watson, hmm? Thank you! I do think "Blind" is one of my better ones. Ha-ha, maybe I should, since my dad seems to busy to mess with it himself… Chocolate chip cookies are good payment. =)

reflekshun: Thank you!

O'FoggageGreen: *hugs back* Aww, s'okay, hon. I mean, I won't lie and say that I wasn't disappointed, but if you have a good reason, I won't complain. =) Yeah, isn't it just neat that he can still make his way around his city? Oh, don't worry, "War" probably won't make you sad—it's definitely not what you think! ^_^ Thank you! Onwards and upwards!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: It… *blinks* could be… I have to say, I was surprised that nobody really asked for a sequel on "Blind"… but you're right… Huh. *tucks away potential book idea* Thank you!

_

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

**

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==15. Haunt==**

Rating: K  
Summary: _There was one last service he could do these rooms. He opened his violin case._  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 265

He glanced around the room one last time. The walls were utterly devoid of photographs, charts, and paintings; the deal table was bare; the jackknife was no longer affixed to the mantelpiece; the coalscuttle was empty of cigarettes. The grey October light did nothing to improve the spirit of the place.

The furniture remained, but the room was so very bare, robbed of all the little bits and pieces that had given it life and color and personality. He felt, not for the first time, an ache in his heart. These rooms had been his home for a very long time, longer than even the family manor house had been. The best years of his life had been spent here.

Nevertheless, it truly _was_ time to move on, and he could not allow sentimentality get in the way. He had not let it happen before, and after forty-five years was certainly _not_ the time to start. He needed to bow out gracefully before the world moved on completely without him.

He moved toward the door, then hesitated. There was one last service he could do these rooms. He opened his violin case, one of the last possessions to remain behind, and lifted the Stradivarius to his shoulder. From the instrument, he coaxed a bittersweet melody, throwing his soul into a farewell to a good home and an old way of life.

When at last he closed the door on his sitting room for the final time, the notes lingered in the air, mingled with the laughter, pain, and camaraderie that would never forsake those rooms.

**

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Author's Note:**

Can't you just hear the Granada theme there? Like the end of SCAN, when he's playing? Btw, the bit about 221B being Sherlock's home longer than the Holmes household is true no matter how you work out his age: he could only have lived in his family's home until 16 or 17, at which age he would have gone to college. He resided in 221B from 1881 to 1903 or 1904 (in my personal canon, '03)—minus the Hiatus years—making it 19 or 20 years in Baker Street.

Next Friday… ohhh _dear_. "Embrace." That was the first out of _all_ my SH fics make me cry—so you guys might want to have a tissue hand next time!

_**Please review!**_


	16. Embrace

**Author's Note:**

I'm still have a definite sense of disequilibrium, but at least the vertigo's gone. And "26. Blood" is done! Yay! (Yeah, it's definitely not what you think, and I have my mom to thank for giving me the idea!)

**Status: 27 out of 100.**

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: I'm afraid I can't update _Study_ until I have an update _written_. *sighs* I think that was actually a part of the stress that led to my little breakdown… Ohhh, okay—well, at least your latest comment went through… doggone Google. It's like YouTube comments, y'know?—they don't always go through. (Holmes: "And I thought _Skyfire_ was bad… My dear Moonspun, your maniacal tendencies are positively unsettling." xDDD) Thank you!

Spockologist: Aww, it made you cry? That's so awesome sweet! Here *hands tissue*. Oh, cheesy! I don't mind cheesy—really, I don't! D'aw, thank you so much for the lovely review!

O'FoggageGreen: Oh, I didn't mean to guilt trip you, silly! I just wanted to say that I missed you… when will I ever learn to keep my big mouth shut? -_- …Isn't it really a lonely image? Especially in a London October. *perks up* What's this? Never seen Granada? Ah! My dear girl, you must! Really, you must! You'll fall in love with it—it is so awesome! …Tissues for everyone? Great idea! You scintillate, my dear! =)

reflekshun: Thank you! Argh, yeah, vertigo's the nastiest thing I've been through in a long time—I'd say it's even worse than migraines (and I get those every once in a while, too). Y'know, I really don't know about Jeremy? I've seen people say in the YouTube comments that the violin playing is dubbed, but on the other hand, it very much _looks_ like he's actually playing (and my mom agrees with me on that). So… I dunno. *shrugs*

_

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

**

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==16. Embrace==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _All he could do was throw his arms around Watson with all the impetuosity of their younger years and clutch fiercely at the khaki fabric.  
_Warnings: none  
Word Count: 239

Seldom in his life had he been rendered speechless, and even fewer were the times that he had been unable to express himself. But standing on that train platform in a sea of khaki, staring at the man who had been his bosom friend for over thirty years, now himself once more in the uniform of his empire's army…

Even could he speak past the lump in his throat, the words would not come—a hundred thoughts flying through his mind and him unable to grasp at one.

All he could do was throw his arms around Watson with all the impetuosity of their younger years and clutch fiercely at the khaki fabric. Watson returned the embrace, both men pouring all the emotion they could not voice into that one gesture of affection.

Then the warning whistle blew.

They broke off the contact, and Watson stepped back, smiling slightly and snapping off a precise salute he had not used since his twenties. He climbed into the coach compartment just as the train began to pull out, and Holmes strode alongside, almost mechanically, to the end of the platform. The doctor's hand waving out a window was the last the retired detective saw of Watson before the train disappeared into the distance.

Abruptly left broken and reeling, Sherlock Holmes staggered back and collapsed against the nearest brick wall, his face in his hands and his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

**

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Author's Note:**

And that had me sobbing for a good fifteen minutes at least. I should note here that when I do these WWI fics, I listen to the _Anne of Green Gables: The Continuing Story_ (i.e. the third of the film trilogy set in WWI) soundtrack. That film has some very beautiful music, and some of it is just perfect for what I'm writing (you can find some of the OST on YouTube, which is where I got it). If any of you have ever seen the movie, you may recall the theme that plays when Gilbert tells Diana that her husband's left for the war, and again when Anne watches Gilbert leave on the train. _That's_ what I listened to when I wrote this—it's this beautiful piece that starts out brave and sad and then just throws its soul into the rest of the music.

I am not, btw, the first person to write this scene—Holmes and Watson as Watson leaves. I think KCS was probably the first, in her beautiful _The Written Front_. Go check it out, 'cause it is truly awesome.

Next Monday… "Silent." Once again, I think you guys'll want to hug Holmes…

_**Please review!**_


	17. Silent

**Author's Note:**

On one hand, I'm still feeling pretty much the same as I was Friday: slightly dizzy and swaying. On the brighter side, I sang an a cappella solo for church yesterday, and my dad loved it. =) Anybody ever seen Veggie Tales' _An Easter Carol_? Remember the little angel Hope and her song? I love the music (it's so very beautiful), and I would have loved to have sung it with the music; but my singing it without allowed the congregation to focus on the message. It's the one song that I know that goes through the whole of Jesus's life, from birth to ministry to death to resurrection—it gives you the entire Gospel in a nutshell, and I love that.

As far as the blog goes, I posted up something on Saturday that you'll want to see if you haven't already~! Just for the record, I haven't answered any comments on the blog… _yet_. I'm really busy right now, and it's all I can do to just keep getting these stories ready for your reading pleasure! But every comment I get thrills me to no end—truly, it does! I may not answer, but I am _definitely_ reading them and loving them!

Oh, and it looks like that last installment was finally again a smashing success! …If the writer cries over it, it's only fair that the readers do. ;-) Also, I finally got two stories done in one day again! *cheers* In the future, you guys have three childhood!fics to look forward to~!

**Status: 29 (almost 30) out of 100 complete.**

**To my reviewers:**

O'FoggageGreen: I don't mind unsigned reviews, especially when they're on fics that aren't one-shots. Anyway… d'awww, holding it in on the school bus? Poor dear! *hugs* …What's this about Watson? *cocks head confusedly* Thank you!

Elerrina Star: Aww… *hugs you hugging Holmes* "Beautifully sad" _totally_ makes sense. Thank you!

Protector of the Gray Fortress: Just… as you… finish reading… WWI poetry… Wow. Does God have great timing or what? That _cannot_ be a coincidence. =) Twenty minutes? Woo-h… I mean, _awww_! …Sorry. But, hey, y'know, if I can make you cry for that long, well, that means I'm doing my job… Thank you very much! *gives big hug for you being a sweetie* =)

Joan Jett The Runaway: D'awww… *hugs* Feel better now?

Moonspun Dragon: 'Tis annoying, indeed. (Holmes: "And _when_, pray tell, my dear Moonspun, have I _ever_ acted _ir_rationally?" *glare*) Thank you!

Spockologist: Well, at least "Embrace" was _meant_ to make you cry, unlike "Haunt"… *whistles innocently* Well, you could've just said that you were crying over a sad story… Okay, if we go by a _strictly_ canonical timeline, Holmes would be 60 and Watson would be just a year or two older. Going by _my_ timeline, which _isn't_ canonical but _does_ fit _historical_ facts, Holmes is 56 and Watson is 60. *shrugs* The image _should_ be real—I saw it very clearly in my mind's eye as I was writing. Thank you!

reflekshun: Y'know… that piece was focusing on Holmes, but if I could somehow do a back-and-forth focus on both of them… that would be a great extension for the book version! Thank you!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Ooo, double-review, and both of them so lovely! *blushes* Thank you!

_

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

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==17. Silent==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _He had known this would happen. He had known he would be this achingly lonely_._  
_Warnings: drug abuse  
Word Count: 313

Why was it so deucedly quiet? Yes, one of the two people that had shared these rooms was moved out, but it was not as if Watson had made very much noise in the past. That was _Holmes's_ task, and one that he had performed admirably.

He threw himself into his armchair, scowling, and stuffed a plug of tobacco into his black clay pipe. Smoking, however, did deplorably little to soothe his nerves.

At last, he set his pipe aside and picked up his Stradivarius, poising to play something ominous and stormy to fit his mood. What started out as wonderfully menacing music, however, abruptly jarred him back to reality with an unintentionally squeaked note. He stared at the violin in shock: he had not made erred so since his early childhood.

It was all Watson's fault. The doctor waltzed into Holmes's life, reawakened a heart that had lain dormant for four years, developed a close companionship with the world's only private consulting detective… then, after nearly eight years, walked right back out with a wife on his arm. _That_ was why Holmes had said he could not congratulate his friend—selfishly spoken, yes, but no less honest for it. He had known this would happen.

He had known he would be this achingly lonely.

_My dear fellow, what have you __**done**__ to me?_

His grey eyes drifted aimlessly around the room until they finally came to rest upon his desk drawer. Watson would not approve. But Watson was no longer here to _disapprove_.

Out came the syringe from the morocco case.

Minutes later, the clouds were lifting, and though all was not right with Sherlock Holmes's world, at least all was no longer unbearable. Perhaps later he would feel guilty about turning for solace to the drug his friend so passionately (and rightfully, he admitted to himself) hated.

But not right now.

**

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Author's Note:**

Sort of a prequel to "13. Negotiate." Poor Sherlock. For the record, I don't hold to the idea that Holmes detested/envied Mary Watson, or that he was a wreck for a long time after the wedding. A _short_ time, like just a few days… now _that_, I can believe. I stand with KCS and aragonite—Sherlock and Mary had a good relationship. He's just having a little self-pity-party right now.

Next Wednesday, a rather longish one! "Work." Granada fans will recognize the influence. ;D Btw, reviews help stave off Holmes-esque depression, so, if you would…

_**Please review!**_


	18. Work

**Author's Note:**

I am pleased to report that my dizziness is almost gone now—thank You, Lord!

As a piece of trivia for this particular installment, my mom saw it and instantly recognized Granada's influence. I've shown her lots of clips—in the process, turning her into a definite fan, yay!—and one such clip was the infamous paper 'splosion scene in RESI. In fact, she asked to make sure that I wasn't plagiarizing; I assured her I wasn't. xD

And seriously, I would very much like some feedback on the Saturday post of my blog (which you can link to from my profile). It's about future book projects—I think you guys will be interested. (Spockologist and Moonspun are exempt 'cause they're good girls. ^_^) Btw, does anybody remember _where_ it says that Holmes has a mess of files but can easily find what he wants? I can't remember, and I can't find it, and it's driving me CRAZY.

**Status: 33 out of 100 complete.**

**To my reviewers:**

O'FoggageGreen: OH. Umm… *tries not to snicker* Umm… *fails* Sorry, it's just… weird and funny… =D Thank you!

Moonspun Dragon: Thanks, hon. (Holmes: *long look, throws up paper over face* "Hmph.") xD Thank you! …As to your blog comment (it's easier to answer here than on the blog =P)… I think plot bunnies have a love/hate relationship with me, lol. Thanks for the feedback!

Spockologist: He's being a bloody idiot, as usual. No biggie. …*snickers* Thanks! …Like with Moonspun, I'm going to answer your last blog comment here… _Sherlock Holmes and the Great War_ needs a TON of research and plot-developing, but it's _definitely_ something I very much want to do! As to Sherlock's parents dying, well, that was already sketched out briefly in "1. Murder," don't forget. _Not a Marrying Man_… this from the girl who has to be tied down to watch Granada's version of CHAS? O.o Just, um, curious… Anyway, thanks for the feedback—that really made my day!

Elerrina Star: D'aww… Oh yes, "Hope's Song" is one of my most favorite songs ever! It's beautiful. Thank you!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Thank you! (Btw, I like the avvie, even if it is Jim! ^_^)

reflekshun: I do feel _much_ better. Thank you!

_

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

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==18. Work==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _I hadn't known that I would enter our sitting room to find every last inch of spare space covered in paper.__  
_Warnings: **fluff**  
Word Count: 773

I had known that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was on a case in which he presently did not require my assistance. I had known this for the past four days. I had _not_ known, however, that I would enter our sitting room on the fifth morning to find every last inch of spare space—both of floor and furniture—covered in paper.

That included the table. And, as it was late, I was quite hungry.

"My dear Holmes!"

The object of my indignation was crouched on the floor, thumbing rapidly through the contents of a folder. I have stated elsewhere that my friend is quite capable of plucking whatever criminal file he needs out of his rather unorganised case files. Apparently, something was quite wrong for him to have made such a disaster of our sitting room in his quest.

"Good morning, old boy," he said absently, sharp grey eyes running over one sheet before discarding it.

"Am I allowed to clear a path to the table and clear the table itself, or would that inconvenience you too much?"

Holmes barked a short laugh, his eyes still not leaving his precious files. "'Pon my word, Watson, that pawky humour of yours is becoming positively acerbic. Yes, yes, do as you like—I'm finished with those particular files."

A sarcastic "thank you" poised on the tip of my tongue, but I forewent it in favour of asking, "What on _earth_ are you looking for?" I bent down and began to forge a path through the artificial snowfall.

"An old file. 1878, if memory serves."

I whistled. "A _very_ old file—that was the year I graduated from the University of London. But don't you keep the pre-'81 files in that large tin box of yours?"

"That is just the matter, Watson! It _should_ be there! I'm going half mad trying to find it!"

By this point, I had reached the table. "What is the name?"

"Cooper and Sanderson."

"Cooper and Sanderson, 1878."

"Quite so."

"Very well. I shall ring for breakfast, and directly afterward, I'll see if I can't help you find this missing file of yours."

Holmes flashed me a brief smile. "I should be much obliged for your aid, my dear fellow."

"Jolly good." I repressed a smirk with difficulty. "That being the case, you can fulfill your obligation by breakfasting _with_ me."

"Watson!"

"I shan't brook a refusal, Holmes," I warned. "You've not eaten in _my_ presence in the past four days, and I doubt you've eaten elsewhere, as you look as emaciated as you usually do when you fast."

"My dear Doctor, really—"

"Oh, take your chair and at least have toast with me before you faint of pure inanition! You are not twenty anymore, my dear fellow, and your body will sooner or later rebel quite vehemently at the strain you constantly put upon it!"

To tell the truth, Sherlock Holmes did indeed look rather awful. Dark rings lay under his eyes, and his thin face was nearly skeletal.

He looked for a moment as if he would argue, but must have seen something in my face that affirmed my relentlessness in this matter. "Very well, Doctor." He shrugged his shoulders ruefully and rose from the paper-strewn floor, promptly slumping into his chair.

In a minute, I had ordered breakfast from Mrs. Hudson, after which I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms, running my own observing gaze over my companion. "You look half dead, old man," I remarked, only half in jest.

"I suppose I have been using myself up rather too freely of late," he admitted wearily.

My breath caught, my mind flashing back to the evening of April 24th, 1891. His words to me just now were far too similar to his words to me then, as he hid from the assassins of Professor Moriarty.

"My dear chap, whatever is the matter?" Holmes asked. "You've gone rather pale."

"Those were rather the same words you used when you were hiding from Moriarty's men in '91, Holmes," I said quietly.

He looked taken aback. "Indeed, I… suppose they were. A thousand apologies for dredging up a bad memory, Watson."

"Never mind it, Holmes," said I, rubbing my temples. "I trust this case is not half so dangerous."

"Not at all, not at all—on that account you may be assured. If we can but find that file, things may go quite well."

"Glad to hear it," I murmured.

From across the table, he offered me a tentative smile, concern still lighting his grey eyes. I smiled back reassuringly. All was still well with my world.

**

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Author's Note:**

All together on three: 1… 2… 3… _D'awww!_ =D Fluffy! Fluffy, fluffy, fluffy! Originally, this was going to be completely a humor piece, but then something happened. It was really quite wonderful, because it's one of those moments when _you stop_ creating the story, and the _characters continue_ it. All of a sudden, it's up to _them_ how it turns out. Watson comments on Holmes's appearance, and Holmes unexpectedly makes a reply that echoes FINA. That hit me out of the blue, and _I loved it_. Abruptly, the story took a much more serious tone… it was great. It really was.

Btw, I have FINALLY COMPLETED THE CANON! *dances* I started last September, and now I'm finally done! (Well, except for the back-stories set in America in STUD and VALL, but honestly, is that _really_ required reading if you know what happens? =D)

Next Friday… oh. OH. You guys are going to LOVE this! It is… *drum roll* a sequel to "10. Light," the brief "Holmes-captured" arc. "Rescue." Don't miss it!

_**Please review!**_


	19. Rescue

**Author's Note:**

Thank you all for the excitement about my feeling better—however, I did say that my dizziness is _almost_ gone. Unfortunately, I still get it in the mornings, and it's _deucedly_ aggravating. =P

I don't have a blog post for today, unfortunately, but check back tomorrow: I might have something then! And today, I proudly present to you the chronologically last installment of what my mom calls the "torture series." ;D I.e. this is the sequel to "10. Light."

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: (Holmes: "You'd better get something for that cough. Watson? !") Aw, thank you—especially the bit about Jeremy and David! That made me warm and happy. =D

PGF: *grins* A love of fluff is not something to be guilty about! Glad you love the install! A party? And "magnificent writing"? My blushes, PGF! Thank you!

Spockologist: *gasp* Your stomach _dropped_? ! Did you call 911? …^_^ That's… well, cool. I mean, that you reacted the same way Watson did. I do like "pawky humor"—so cute! Ha-ha, I would've _loved_ to see you trying to explain that whoop—if I did the same thing, I'd prolly be shot for scaring the lil'un, lol. …Y'know, your saying "lack of visual" triggered kind of a naughty response in my mind—nothing that I was serious about, mind you, and I won't say it. Anyway, I guess how much you'll want to visualize is up to you—you know I try to make my scenes as visual as possible (usually, 't-any-rate). Thank you!

medcat: Thank you!

reflekshun: Oh no! Didn't mean to make _you_ go crazy! =( Sure thing about praying for your allergies! What kind? My dad and one of my brothers have allergies—my brother has a _lot_. Thank you!

_

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

**

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==19. Rescue==**

Rating: PG  
Summary:_ Watson **is **coming for him. Until then, he can endure this. He **will **endure this._

Warnings: mentions of torture and drugs  
Word Count: 648

He remains drugged to a state of near-insensibility. Pain and that terrible, penetrating darkness remain his world in its entirety. But there is one difference.

He no longer despairs.

He heard Watson's prayer; and though there are black moments when a small, insidious voice whispers that he imagined it, he _knows_, with all the surety of his former self, that it was real.

Watson _is_ coming for him. Until then, he can endure this. He _will_ endure this.

He has no notion whatsoever of how much time has lapsed since that prayer—and his mind chooses not to linger over it too long lest the memory of the torture overshadow the memory of his friend's voice.

He hears the door start to creak open, and curls up instinctively, as much as he is able, into a ball. He has received far too many kicks in an unprotected stomach, and he has learned his lesson. Light floods in, and he squeezes his eyes shut, unable to repress a soft whimper. The brightness is painful.

He hears an intake of breath, hears two pairs of footsteps come rushing up. He cannot keep himself from trembling in fear of what his tormentors have in store for him this time. He remembers the time they pinned him to the wall and… no, he will _not_ recall _that_ session.

"Dear God in heaven," he hears a voice breathe, and it is achingly familiar.

He feels strong hands gently—oh, so gently!—probe his body; and he would swear that he has felt this touch before, and not from this place. The hands firmly but carefully pry his knees away from his chest, prevailing over his feeble attempt to struggle. A voice from somewhere above him murmurs something indistinct, and his wrists are lifted into the air.

Dear God, they're going to do something to his hands! His mind instantly conjures up a number of horrific possibilities. Moaning, he tries to pull his hands away.

"Shhh, shhh, Holmes. It's all right."

He feels a drop of water splash against his cheek and roll down to his lips. It is saltwater, but the tear is not his.

Ceasing his struggles, he opens his eyes and looks up. The face before him is backlit, but the silhouette is unmistakable. At the same moment, the manacles on his wrists pop open, and he starts at the sensation. It has been so long since his hands were _free_…

"Wat…son…"

"Yes, my dear fellow." That voice, so full of emotion, so very much his own dear Watson. "I'm here now." The strong hands remain busy, feeling him all over. "You are going to be all right, Holmes."

There is something he is supposed to do now, some gesture he needs to make… Ah, he has it. One corner of his mouth pulls back slowly, painfully stretching a scabbed gash on his cheek. A rivulet of blood trickles down from the raised corner, but it is the best smile he can currently manage.

"I knew…" His voice is hoarse from disuse and screaming. "I knew…"

"Shhh. Save it for later, Holmes."

"Knew… you'd… come…"

The manacles on his ankles pop open, and strong arms scoop him up. "Good heavens, you weigh _nothing_," Watson murmurs.

He knows not how Watson and Scotland Yard managed to get past the Professor's defenses to reach him—and Moriarty will likely get off scot-free, with no way to connect him to the kidnapping save an incoherent memory. But the Yard has triumphed this time, and he cannot begrudge them their victory.

As he is carried out of the cell—the cell that had been his entire existence for what seemed an eternity—he rests his head against Watson's shoulder, indescribably grateful for something warm and soft to pillow his head upon.

Watson has him. _Well done, my dear fellow_. He is quickly rocked to sleep.

**==Finis (****I**_**... think...**_**)==**

**

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Author's Note:**

And like Sherlock, we can rest assured that, now that his guardian angel has him, he will be all right. …After a while, anyway… you can't recover from torture just like that, and poor Sherlock was literally pushed to the limit.

Btw, just in case anybody wanted to infer slash from this… well, please don't. I don't write slash, and I very, _very_ much dislike it. This is purely friendship, as pure and strong as friendship can get.

Next Monday… oh! "Die." ^_^ *hums* Hm-hm-hmm! It's not what you think~ Now, lest I fall into depression, please…

_**Please review!**_


	20. Die

**Author's Note:**

I… won't say anything about this installment until _afterwards_. Instead, allow me to put in a plug for Saturday's blog post, which discussed child and child!Sherlock stereotypes and how I handle Sherlock's childhood. Please check it out (there's a fic challenge there), and if you would be so kind as to COMMENT? Pretty please with sugar on it? Maybe give me some feedback, too, on the "Future Sherlockian Novels" post? I'll even settle for your mentioning it in a review here, by now! =(

Oh yes, and something I forgot to add in last chapter's end note: the person saying "Dear God in heaven," the voice that Holmes is trying to recognize? That's actually _not_ Watson. *cue gasps of surprise* Yeah, I know that's what everybody was thinking, but it's not. Watson doesn't really speak until he's comforting Holmes. So who was the person? …Lestrade, actually. No, I kid you not! I just… couldn't think of a way to make that clearer. =/

Btw, I cheated just a little bit on today's status bar. My latest isn't actually finished, but it will be today if I can help it at all, I swear! It should have been done yesterday, but I never got a good chance to finish it.

**Status: 36 out of 100 complete.**

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: Guess what? You gave me MY 100TH REVIEW! *whoops* (Holmes: "Obviously, my sarcasm was lost on you." -_-) xD Thank you!

PGF: (I like the acronym. ;D) Wow, thank you so much! …Well, you've _written_ quite a few rescues, right? So, that just makes it all the more complimentary that you found my rescue story to be real! *dies happy* Actually, do you realize that we keep running in parallel? That was the second Friday in a row: the Friday before that, you'd read WWI poetry and I posted a WWI story; and then this past Friday, we both update our fics with rescue scenes! O.O High five!

Spockologist: Oo, happy spazz is good! =) I _know_ you didn't mean it that way, hon, and I'm sorry—I don't _tell_ "naughty" jokes, but my brain comes up with some maybe-less-than-decent humor sometimes. *rolls eyes at self* Probably a result of reading too many _other_ adults' ideas of humor (oh, how I long for the innocence I had… five years ago!). Anyway… Thank you very much!

O'FoggageGreen: D'aw, your pets died? *gives you big bear hug* Well, um, glad it wasn't too emotional, then (I think they're kind of entitled to it, though…). I'll go with serious!fluff. ;D Thank you!

reflekshun: Aw, thank you! Ooo, you're like my brother, then—am still praying. ;-) And I'm getting there… if I could just get some decent sleep and stress-less mornings, I think I'd be doing better. -_-

SabrinaPhynn: Aw, thanks! I love author's notes, and it's great to know when others enjoy them. Music is highly conducive to inspiration—I must agree with the Great Detective, there. ;D Ooo, popovers! I haven't had those in ages! May I have a bite? ^_^ I bet he'll love 'em! (Poor dear is probably starving by now, so you'll want to take it easy…) Thank you, again!

_

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

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==20. Die==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _They converged upon him, a good dozen springing him all at once__._  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 218

He dashed through the alley, well aware of the multiple feet pounding the cobblestones behind him. He ducked some thrown missile and took a left, almost tripping over an indignant cat as he did so. Several more figures appeared from another corner only _a few feet_ _in front of_ _him_, and he came to a halt.

"You're a dead man now, Mr. 'Olmes," the tallest of them growled. "Get 'im, lads!"

They converged upon him, a good dozen springing him all at once. He fought valiantly, but the sheer number of hollering ruffians bent on dragging him down to the ground was more than he could withstand.

"Die, die, die, die!" one young—_astonishingly_ young—voice chanted.

Above the nearly deafening din, he noted a distinctly amused voice. "Once you are finished being murdered by your own Irregulars, Holmes, Mrs. Hudson has dinner ready."

Sherlock Holmes looked up at John Watson from beneath a tangle of bodies and limbs and grinned boyishly. _And_, Dr. Watson noted, all too mischievously.

"Boys?" said Holmes, and the ragged bunch of children and teenagers froze, awaiting orders.

Watson took a step back. He would _not_…

"Get him."

The next moment, the air was filled with war cries once again, as well as the bellow of one _very_ incensed retired army surgeon. "HOLMES!"

**

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Author's Note:**

*falls off chair laughing* Had you worried there for a sec, didn't I? Since I had done so much angst already, I was bound and determined to invert the nature of the prompt and give us some laughs. The best part is that I can really see this happening! (The tallest of them would be Wiggins.)

Oh, and I had almost, _almost_ forgotten, and doing this author's note reminded me! There will be a sequel! I still have to write it (have to find a fitting word prompt), but there _will_ be a sequel!

I plan on writing more of the Irregulars in the future—even going as far as to write a novel: _An Irregular Point of View_. Check out the "Future Sherlockian Novels… Why Not?" post on my blog for more info.

Next Wednesday… oh dear, you'd better bring tissues. "Memory." Trust me, you'll need 'em.

_**Please review!**_


	21. Memory

**Author's Note:**

Like I said, tissues. I cried a river over this one.

Yesterday, I thought I wasn't going to get the install I was working on done, so when I started getting this chapter ready for posting, I put the status bar as "36._5_." But then, not only did I manage to get the one install finished, but I also went on to do a second! Hallelujah, that was wonderful! The chapter that I thought I wouldn't finish was a sequel to the last one uploaded, "20. Die," and is the longest story I've done for AMM yet!

**Status: 38 out of 100 complete.**

**To my reviewers:**

nomdeplume30: Heeey, haven't seen you in a while—nice to have you back! *hug-tacklez* Thank you! I get a kick out of their teasing each other and acting like kids, too. ^_^

Moonspun Dragon: Yeah, I know (about the Watson/Lestrade mix-up). Sorry 'bout that! And about the story challenge, yay! Well, of course, you'll put it on FFN—where else would it be? ^_^ (Holmes: *glower* "_Thank_ you, Brett.") Thank you!

Spockologist: XDDD Thanks! And I can't wait to see what you'll come up with for the challenge!

SabrinaPhynn: I love the Irregulars, too—I wish they'd been in, more! Heh, yeah, I actually didn't know popovers _existed_ till my mom made them when I was… 13-ish? But they're good, yes! And… you're the only one in your family that likes them hot? How odd… I mean, how _else_ would you eat them? Anyway, thank you! (Oh, and will your child!fic _be_ from Mrs. Holmes's POV? That would be AWESOME!)

O'FoggageGreen: You're welcome! Ha-ha, I once tried coining a pairing name… I'm still not sure if it's stuck… *shrugs* Coining terms are still fun, whether or not anybody uses them. ;-) Brothers and uncles totally works—and that's what I'm getting from it, too! =D Thank you!

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

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_

**==21. Memory==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _"What was running through your mind as you penned these? Those dreadful days between May '91 and April '94…"_  
Warnings: mention of character deaths  
Word Count: 480

He knelt before the battered old trunk, lifted the lid, and reverently began to lift out papers. A smile touched his lips at the sight of an old date—1883, "The Adventure of the Speckled Band."

"Oh, my dear Watson," he breathed. "Your romantic streak always was as large as your generous heart." He thumbed through the case notes and the appended draft for the _Strand_, then set the file aside, choosing "The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle" for his next perusal.

"What was running through your mind as you penned these?" he murmured. "Those dreadful days between May '91 and April '94…" Certainly, no reader could possibly have discerned any grief, however distant, in the content of the three-and-twenty short stories published prior to "The Final Problem." But Holmes knew his Watson. The stories were his way of dealing with his grief—of looking back, learning from the past, and moving on.

"You… always _were_ better at that than I. I learned from past cases, but you learned from past _events_. It took many an incident to hammer anything pertaining to matters of the heart into my head, eh?" He paused, a lump just beginning to form his throat. "What I would not give to go back and change that, to make myself see how much more there was to life than intellectual exercises and justice. It took yet another wound to your leg, retirement, and a bloody Great War to make me truly see. When I think of all the time I'd wasted in my self-centeredness…" He could not continue that thought.

The entire _Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ was laid aside on the nearby armchair. _The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_ soon joined them, "The Final Problem" remaining untouched. He paused at "The Adventure of the Empty House," but could not bring himself to open that file, either. He _couldn't_.

The trunk was soon clear of all sixty published cases. Below them lay an unfinished manuscript, titled simply _Sherlock Holmes and the Great War_. He tentatively lifted it out of the trunk, thumbing gently through the many pages. Had it been completed, the novel would have been the doctor's longest work, a masterpiece detailing their services during the war.

He wanted to finish it himself—truly, he did—but the mere thought of completing his Boswell's final manuscript…

_He couldn't_.

He looked up from the journal in his hands, out the window where clouds drifted gently in the azure sky. His vision blurred and remained that way. "Oh, Watson," he whispered hoarsely. "How I miss you! I don't wish you back, my dear fellow, but I long for the day when we shall be reunited."

A single drop of saltwater sparkled through the air and spotted the manuscript, almost at the same time an aching twinge in his chest reminded him…

"Thank God, I think it may be soon."

**

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Author's Note:**

I… put this sometime in the 1930s. If you've ever read KCS's "My Dear Watson," you may note the similarities, but this is NOT a cop-off. If anything, this could be a companion piece to two future planned novels: _To Take Up the Pen_ and _Sherlock Holmes and the Great War_. (See blog for details—y'know, I won't quit plugging for it until I get more than Spockologist's and Moonspun's responses on it!)

Btw, SCAN was first published in July 1891, two months after Reichenbach. Like Holmes, we have to wonder what was going through Watson's mind… I think, though, that he understands…

Next Friday…"War." A FINA piece. (That story is AWESOMELY inspiring for fics.)

_**Please review!**_


	22. War

**Author's Note:**

This one took FOREVER to get right! I went through _at least_ three drafts before I finally ended up with both a concept and an execution of that concept with which I was satisfied! (Usually, I need only one draft for these.) It took… a week, give or take, don't remember… to get this one done. I ended up skipping ahead to the next prompt. *rolls eyes*

For once, the status remains the same—for the past couple of days, I've been working a scene from _To Take Up the Pen_. Out of the blue, this dialogue between Lestrade and Watson started unwinding itself, and I had to type it out. By the time I finished, however, I lost one of the best parts. =(

For those of you haven't read about it on the blog (I'll stop plugging for that particular post, I promise *weary sigh*), _To Take Up the Pen_ is a future novel project by yours truly, set during the Hiatus. It's about Watson writing and publishing all 24 stories of _Adventures_ and _Memoirs_, and what was going on in his life as he was doing so. And what was going through Holmes's mind as he read them during his travels.

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: (Holmes: *blinks* "There, there, old girl." *pats shoulder comfortingly*) Thank you very much!

nomdeplume30: Thank you very much for both reviews! Concerning "Memory," well, I already said I cried—it hurts a lot just to read about their final days, let alone write them. Concerning "Rescue"… one of the best rescues you've read? Wow! *bright smile* I like Watson rescuing Holmes, too, though it's more of a sadistic thing with me since, I must admit, I _like_ seeing Holmes that vulnerable (provided that he pulls through, of course). But you're right: Watson does it with all his vast heart, and that _is_ powerful, indeed.

Spockologist: Aww, sweetie! *hugs* Yes, they'll be together in heaven. Actually, there's something I meant to share and forgot to last time, and I'll say it here. I was typing it, and sobbing my heart out, and suddenly, I was just overwhelmed with the realization that these two great, wonderful men _were not real_. They were fictional, and… and… shoot, I'm crying as I'm typing this. Blasted lachrymal glands. Anyway, that was the same day I got on Shelockian dot Net and found that "Real Doctor Watson" article that you (and I) fell in love with. Maybe God planned it that way? Whatever the case may be, it helped, because I went from severe depression (and I'm not exaggerating) to elated hope. It's like, I want so badly for them to be real that I believe they are. On the other hand, it's not like the article wasn't convincing for anybody leaning in that direction. Anyway, thank you very much. And hey, don't ever feel bad about plugging your stories (at least to me)! I've actually been keeping up with _Drawer_ from the start, and I'm enjoying it!

O'FoggageGreen: *gives 'nother hug* Yes, you did mention the laptop before… _bummer_. =/ It's a _crying shame_ ACD didn't write more about WWI. It just begged to be written, and he didn't do it! But yes, his loss is the gain of enterprising authors such as myself. ;D Glad you like the idea so much, and hope to give you more in the future! Sad!Holmes is just about the most heartbreaking thing ever. Really is. …As for the pairing, it was a Star Wars Expanded Universe pairing, Thrawn/Maris—the name I gave it is "Thraris." Thrawn is an alien, Imperial, Chaotic Neutral incarnation of… guess who. *points Strad bow at a certain consulting detective* Yup. Thank you!

medcat: Thank you for both reviews! …And "Die" was a _lovely_ (and badly-needed) breather to do some comic relief. =Ds, his loss is the gain of enterprizing fore...tieve in Sherlock Holmes went from severe depression to elated great, wonde

SabrinaPhynn: Aww, thank you! Oh, that is so _awesome_ about your child!fic—I can't wait to see it! *bounces up and down* …Ooo, I have LOTS of experience with night owls, being the firstborn in a big family. *shudders* And having several _deucedly_ smart younger siblings, I, too, sympathize very much with Mrs. Holmes. ^_^

Joan Jett The Runaway: Awww! *hugs* Sorry that, erm, you had to be reading something so sad at a time like that! =(

reflekshun: You're welcome, and thank you! Erm, it's still these early mornings that bug me—otherwise, I'm back to normal.

_

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

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_

**==22. War==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _If one were to strip this conflict down to myself and the Professor, I suppose it is indeed a duel—a clash of wits._  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 333

"It has been a duel between you and me, Mr. Holmes."

A duel. An interesting choice of words. If one were to strip this conflict down to myself and the Professor, I suppose it is indeed a duel—a clash of wits between two of the greatest intellects in the Empire.

He is also correct in assessing this situation to be an impossible one. One or perhaps even both of us shall not walk away from it alive.

"If you are clever enough to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you." He will hang, or he will make certain that I die. Or perhaps he shall do both.

Staring down the most dangerous man I have ever had the privilege of facing, I lift my chin with the dignity of a noble line of solid English gentry. "You have paid me several compliments, Mr. Moriarty," I tell him. "Let me pay you one in return when I say that if I were assured of the former eventuality, I would, in the interests of the public, _cheerfully_ accept the latter." Good heavens, my own audacity astounds myself at times.

"I can promise you the one, but _not_ the other," he snarls, turning about and coming just short of storming out of the room.

I fall back into my chair, greatly relieved at his departure. That is the nearest I have come in years to being unnerved—since the Baskerville case, in fact. I toy idly with my pipe as I consider this latest turn of events.

A duel, he said. Accurate, but it should be better to say that it is a war—a war I have been fighting long before I even knew my opponent, concealed within his tangled web. But unlike a war fought on the battlefield, this shall not end in surrender. Moriarty is quite right about that, as well.

It shall end in inevitable destruction. God help me in the days to come.

**

* * *

Author's Note:**

Ahhh, FINA. …I was so relieved to finish this. Heh, and then my mom, having finished reading this, asks me if it wasn't too close to the Granada episode (I showed her their version of this scene). I laughed and assured her that the Granada scene is merely almost word for word straight from the book. I'm quoting the written story, not the Granada script. ^_^

Btw, if you haven't read Moonspun's latest fic, "Nightmares," you absolutely must! It is seriously the sweetest thing ever!

Next Monday… "Faint." An amusing if not-so-friendly vignette. ;D

_**Please review!**_


	23. Faint

**Author's Notes:**

Once again, I don't get the Monday installment prepped for uploading till Monday morning. Gah. *rubs eyes* On the good side this weekend, I got my very first Holmes pastiche: _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Holmes_. It's good—I've been really enjoying it! I should be finishing it today (it's novella-length, I think), and once I'm done, I'll put a (spoiler-ridden) review up on the blog!

Btw, any of you guys on Holmesian dot Net? I joined up recently, and it's been fun, if a little slow. Maybe if there was a little more action, I could make some friends… *shrugs*

Oh, and as far as AMM The Book goes, heh, I did two short fics that don't have numerical placements yet in the list. The first story couldn't fit ANY of the prompts left (it'll have to be one of the five "author's choice" stories), and the second, I just haven't bothered looking for a prompt to fit it to, yet. Hopefully, I can. Anyway, these two stories are included in the status bar, because—though numberless—they're still a part of the book. Also, btw, you remember "Their First Christmas"? Guess what you'll be getting a companion piece to? Like, maybe, the opening scene from a certain snow-bombarded detective's POV~?

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: Ohhh, thank you! Lovely compliment, that you can hear the actors' voices! =D I _love_ it when I can see the actors and actresses when I read, because I don't often do that, actually. I think it's probably because books and films are so far removed from each other—even when I read Star Wars, I don't quite get the real characters' voices. Jeremy's and David's voices, however… _wow_. I can hear them. I read the stories, and I can _hear_ them. I've _never_ been able to do that so consistently before, and I love it! (Holmes: *holds out Kleenex box* "Don't worry about it. If I may say so, 'Memory' unnerved me a bit, as well.") I think that, oftentimes, there's either a lot that Holmes doesn't tell Watson, or a lot that Watson leaves out—or both. In the case of FINA, I lean toward both. ;D Thank you!

SabrinaPhynn: Thank you! Oh yeah, gotta love Jeremy's CHEERfully. …It ought to be illegal for somebody to be that awesome. xD "Check the Pigeonhole marked M." …Cute pun. xDDD Btw, I don't have time for a proper review right now, but I love the new update of _Diary of The Woman_—it's the best chapter yet, and I can't _wait_ for more!

Spockologist: Aww. *is hugged* Happy in our madness is good. =D Yeah, once I get the chance, I'll have to review _Drawer_… and _Four of a Kind_, for that matter (which you really need to update, and make the next chapter brighter ;D). Thank you very much!

O'FoggageGreen: Thank you! No problem - I'm pretty bad about reviewing myself, just 'cause I always want to ramble and I never have time for it. =P

reflekshun: You're welcome, and thank you!

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

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_

**==23. Faint==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _Sherlock Holmes raised the magazine to cover his face, but I could hear faint sniggering from behind._  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 210

Sherlock Holmes raised the magazine to cover his face, but I could hear faint sniggering from behind. "What have I done wrong now?" I sighed wearily. This was the first time in thirteen years I had had the _dubious_ pleasure of being present whilst Holmes read one of my biographical tales.

"Oh, nothing _misreported_, my dear Watson," he said, his face still hidden, "of that you may be assured." His grin was all too audible.

"Then why were you sniggering?"

_The Strand_ came down, revealing a decidedly boyish grin on a middle-aged face. "I warn you, Watson, that you will find it decidedly offensive."

My brow furrowed. "What in heaven's name are you talking about?"

"Merely your… _reaction_… to my theatrical reappearance."

"_Holmes_."

He seemed to sink back into his armchair. "It simply occurred to me that it was the first and only time you fainted, after surviving Maiwand, enteric fever, a second Jezail bullet to your leg, all our dangerous cases, etcetera, etcetera."

"And?"

He _did_ sink this time, and the magazine rose once more. "Well, it _was mildly_ amusing," he muttered petulantly.

I sighed and rubbed at my temples. "Lovely. My faint amuses Sherlock Holmes; all's right with the world."

"Oh, _do_ calm down, there's a good fellow?"

**

* * *

Author's Note:**

EMPT was first published in September 1903. By Doylean reckoning, Holmes would have been 49 (incidentally, just a year younger than Jeremy when Granada began filming). By my own timeline, he would have been 45.

Btw, cookies to anybody who recognized the slightly-adapted "sniggering" line. …"Well, if I was doing it proper, what was you sniggering at?" Yes, it's Eliza Doolittle of _My Fair Lady_, to Freddie Eynsford-Hill (aka Jeremy Brett). ^_^ It originally wasn't actually supposed to be an allusion to the show, but once I typed it out, it reminded me instantly of Eliza and Freddie.

Also, just in case anybody was thinking this, Holmes wasn't being cruel in laughing at Watson's faint. This is nearly ten years removed from the fact, and it's one of those instances that you can look back at and recognize the humor in it. Besides, Holmes's cuteness here makes up for any perceived naughtiness. ;D

Next Wednesday… ooo, "Trapped." It's a prequel to another installment—I leave you to guess which.

Only getting four or five reviews depress me, 'cause I know that I have more reviewers (and readers, for that matter!) than that. That being said…

_**Please review!**_


	24. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

Well, did you guys notice anything missing last time? Like, maybe, the status bar? …Yup. *sighs* How embarrassing! Anyway, the status was… 42, I believe, when I posted up that install early Monday morning. Guess what it is _now_. Can you guess? Okay, it is *drum roll*:

FIFTY. **Status is 50 out of 100**.

So, how should we celebrate? I think this calls for a celebration.

One last thing: ironically, the day (last Monday) that I make an actual plea for more reviews is the day that I get over _60_ hits on the install and only _3_ reviews. O.o Was "Faint" really all that boring? Or was everybody else busy?

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: The word does the same for me, and you're right about that scene—'specially since it's one of the five scenes that Jeremy's in! *fangirl-spazz* (Holmes: *rubs at temples* "Kindly cease giving me those looks. Skyfire, a little help, if you please?" Me: "Sorry, Sherlock, you're not dragging me into this.") xD Oh, please check it out and join up, do! www dot holmesian dot net You can find me there as newbie "Irish Sky." Thank you!

Spockologist: Thank you! Holmes _is_ cute, isn't he. And yeah, poor Watson. =) I will review, I will! I just need a good morning in which to do it! And you finished _Four_, yay! That was a great ending!

SabrinaPhynn: Thank you very much!

_

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© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

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_

**==24. Trapped==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _His calculating brain takes a backseat to pure instinct honed to a knife's edge since childhood._  
Warnings: violence/torture  
Word Count: 434

They assault him all at once, too many for him to take on alone. That does not stop him from trying valiantly.

His calculating brain takes a backseat to pure instinct honed to a knife's edge since childhood. He ducks one sweeping arm, takes a blow to the stomach, lands a punch of his own in another's face. He is fast, and he is fierce.

He is magnificent.

But he is only one man. And this time, one man is not enough.

He is subjected to repeated blows, over and over and over without stopping, and there is only so much that even he can take before he inevitably crumples beneath the relentless barrage. He can only lie there, facedown, on the ground, his body far too battered to rally again.

His breath comes in ragged gasps, harsh to his sensitive ears. A knee plants itself in the small of his back, pinning him painfully in place; but only a hint of a whimper eludes his iron self-control. His arms are wrenched back suddenly and forcefully, eliciting a gasp as agony shoots through the captive limbs. Cold metal soon shackles his wrists together.

His head is seized by the hair and pulled up, and a rag is bound around his head, sealing his mouth shut. Only then does he hear a voice at last. "Well, well. So the Great Meddler _can _be brought to heel." The smug voice elicits rough laughter, and for a fleeting moment, he hates both. But hatred blinds logic, so he banishes all trace of the emotion to the dark recesses of his mind.

He is dragged upright to a vaguely standing position—his legs cannot currently support his weight, so he is held in place by two of his attackers. The man before him—a dockworker by his clothes but an educated man by his manner—is obviously the leader. "Who would have thought it would be so easy?"

He ignores the sneer and glances down, significantly, to draw the other's attention there. Two men lie sprawled on the ground, quite obviously dead. He then looks up with a challenging gleam in his eyes. It was not _that _easy.

The other man snarls and strikes him hard across the face, his head snapping back at the ferocity of the blow. "Crow all you want, Holmes—it'll be your last. You've gone too far this time, and now you're finished."

A cloth falls over his face, and he struggles—feebly—at the sickening smell. It is chloroform.

The last thing he remembers is wishing that he'd not gone out alone…

**

* * *

Author's Note:**

Can you guess what this is a prequel to? …Maybe, the "torture series"? (My mom will probably be hearing about that one on and off forever… ^_^) I have to say, I think this is the first time I've written capture scene in _years_. Poor Sherlock!

By the way, I have a new story out—"Unraveling the Truth." It's my very first fic with Lestrade as a main character! Here's a little spoiler for you:

_Lestrade leaned forward, himself. "I could not help but notice a few inconsistencies in the proof version you circulated around the Yard." Watson stiffened but remained silent. "The one that left the greatest impression on me was the telegram regarding the mass arrest." He looked the Doctor in the eye. "It didn't happen that way, and well you know it."_

Please read it and review!

Next Friday… "Stab." Not violent, but definitely sad.

_**Pleeease review!**_


	25. Stab

**Author's Note:**

If you didn't check the blog Wednesday, then let me say that I'm planning on doing some sort of trailer for AMM. Unfortunately, no, it can't use Granada clips or the theme, 'cause they're still owned by Granada, and this won't be a non-profit video. (The purpose of it will be to generate profit for the future book, so… *shrugs*) But anyway, that'll be coming down the pike sometime in the future, hopefully.

Also, I do believe I _will_ do one last installment on the torture series, one in which Watson is taking care of Holmes at home. However, that will have to be put to some prompt beyond 54, and therefore will most definitely _not_ appear here on FF.N. In other words, YOU'LL HAVE TO WAIT FOR THE BOOK—MUWAHAHAHA!

Oh, and for the record, I wasn't trying to guilt trip anybody into reviewing last time—I'm just trying to figure out what is and is not generating feedback, or why there is less, etcetera. All a part of marketing, y'see.

**Status: 54 out of 100 complete.**

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: Aw, don't worry, Jenn—it was just the prequel to "9. Darkness," "10. Light," and "19. Rescue." He'll be okay… eventually. …Gasp, chocolate chip meringue? Ooo, yes, please! *is chocoholic* (Holmes: "Thank you, my good woman—I accept your kind offer of chocolate goodness." *studiously avoids Watson's glare*) I share in your silliness unashamedly. ;D

Moonspun Dragon: (Holmes: *raised eyebrow* "_Now_ who's being childish?") I got email notification of your adding me to your friends list. =) About validation… I got validated almost right away, but the head admin's been having problems lately with InvisionFree, the host. Fortunately, everything seems to be okay now, so hopefully she can process you soon! Thank you!

Spockologist: Brownies and ice cream? …Okay, guys, the party's on Spockologist! …*snickers* How could an innocent little story like "Four" nearly kill you? O.o *sighs* Well, at least Moonspun also did a couple (and hopefully has a couple more in her?). Hey, you don't have to write an actual capture scene until you have a capture sequence—and you have to be careful with the whole thing from capture to rescue to ensure that you don't end up sounding cliché or sappy. This was most definitely my best captivity sequence ever. Nope, probably not, and thank you! …Yeah, that man definitely needs backup.

reflekshun: Thank you!

O'FoggageGreen: Oh, it's okay—at least you read it and enjoyed it! Thank you, I loved writing those lines! …So, _did_ you check out the Lestrade story?

insideouttuoedisni: Aww, don't be embarrassed, and thanks so much for reviewing! I would say that the iPod's a pretty fair excuse. Anyway, thank you so very much! Yeah, I do enjoy torturing Holmes, I must admit—like I've said before, it's just great to see him that vulnerable and definitely human. Reading these is the highlight of your day? *blushes* I feel warm and fuzzy inside now… …Would your devotion extend to a $2.99 e-book that _will_ have all 100 stories? *grins*

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_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

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**==25. Stab==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _"Holmes, it will be the death of you. Criminals need not apply."_  
Warnings: discussion of drugs  
Word Count: 233

"Holmes, it will be the death of you. Criminals need not apply."

"My dear Doctor, your medical advice is neither wanted nor necessary."

"No, it never _is_ wanted, is it? My opinions, my views, never have any significance whatsoever to you unless they agree with your own!"

"Watson, that is patently untr—"

"It _is_ true, and well you know it! For heaven's sakes, man, you have the second most brilliant mind in the Empire; and yet for all your cleverness, you are so willfully _stupid_ when it comes to that infernal drug!"

Holmes shot to his feet, his languor completely gone, his grey eyes blazing. "How dare you?" he hissed.

"How dare _you!_ How dare you expect your closest friend to sit by in silence and watch whilst you, little by little, perform the deed that not even Professor Moriarty could accomplish!"

The silence that followed was as electric as the air before lightning strikes. At last… "Get. Out. _Now_." Each word sounded strangled and ground out.

"With pleasure! Go right ahead and kill yourself—I don't bloody well care!" Watson stormed out of the sitting room and slammed the door shut behind him with such force that one framed photograph actually fell off its hook.

Holmes fell back into his armchair, head whirling. He refused to dwell on why he felt as if he'd just received a stab to the heart.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This one was another problematic one (as was the previous, actually). It took a while before I figured out what I wanted to do. Since Holmes has already been diseased, shot, tortured, and pummeled in only twenty-five installments, I decided it was too soon to have him be stabbed as well. So the idea of the figurative pierce/stab/knife to the heart worked really well. And the line about Moriarty… I seem to recall that I saw something like that… _somewhere_… but I can't recall where. Anyhow, I still love it.

Okay, now, next weekend, we have got a _fantastic_ line-up! The whole week long, we'll be taking a trip back in time to visit Sherlock's childhood! Three stories co-starring Cecile Holmes and Mycroft Holmes, Jr.! (Monday's prompt is "Blood." ;D) Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	26. Blood

**Author's Note:**

Wooow. For once, I did not have to do all my Monday chapter-prepping on Monday morning—_I was actually smart enough to do it Sunday whilst burned-out of inspiration_. (And if I was smart, I'd have stayed in bed late this morning—I don't know whether it was the coffee maybe a bit late ((for me)) in the day or my mind hyped on an intense sci-fi film or both, but I didn't get to sleep till PAST midnight, and I got up at a quarter after 6. Meh.)

I was… rather amazed that a chapter I didn't think quite so… spectacular… managed to garner _9_ reviews, the highest number I've gotten on a single chapter thus far! …You people are weird, and I say that with love. ;D

**Status: 61 out of 100 complete.**

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: Aw, thank you! *blushes* (I'll bet Holmes grew up on éclairs, or the Victorian equivalent, lol.) May I ask how the interview went?

Moonspun Dragon: Lol, you needn't have worried. Run, Watson, run! ;D Yeah, Wikipedia calls it a "drug habit," but it's addiction, pure and simple. Plot buuunnies! How 'bout some Granada bunnies—any of them in there, somewhere? (Holmes: "Do you know what? I do not have to endure these attacks on my character. I am going to my room." *shuts slams door behind him*) Thanks! (Btw, have you been validated yet, or are you still waiting? Did you send an email?)

Spockologist: "Stupid" made you laugh? O.o -_- xD Something not even Moriarty _could_ do—as in, Holmes was killing himself. Not mean, therefore, but a case of "truth hurts." Hey, I can almost guarantee the book will be out by summer! *pouts at "no seconds"*

O'FoggageGreen: Thanks for reviewing on the Lestrade story, and I'll get back with you and the others on your reviews… next time, when I have time. ;D I just think there's a lot that went on behind the scenes that Watson didn't want to tell us—he wanted to present a strong, united front. Of course, that's playing The Game, but I've been doing that a LOT lately. I really kind of have to. Thank you!

teenelizabeth: Thanks, hon! I really never once thought of associating "stab" with "syringe," and it's neat that you and O'Foggage did. =)

reflekshun: Thank you!

Faithful Bozwell: Thanks once again! I'm glad that I can get the readers to empathize so strongly with Holmes. "Page-turner" made my day. It really did. =D

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Aw, thank you! As for commenting on my blog… yuck, Blogger _used_ to let you do "anonymous" comments, and all you had to do was do one of those "are you human?" word tests and maybe leave your email address. Now, they won't let you unless you do have one of those identities… argh! Sorry, hon, but I guess you're lucked out on that one. You can just comment here. ;D

insideouttuoedisni: Your favorite thus far? O.o Wow. Thank you very much! Like I told O'Foggage, I think that Watson purposely left a lot of things out, maybe in part to protect their privacy and dignity. *shrugs*

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

**==26. Blood==**

_For Mama, who gives me ideas and encouragement and is absolutely the best._

Rating: G  
Summary: _"Mother, Sherlock, why on __**earth**__ did you vandalize the sitting room?"/"Merely drawing lessons, Mycroft."_  
Warnings: pure and utter FLUFF  
Word Count: 854

The bow scraped across the violin, producing progressively higher and more painful notes, until finally…

"_Sherlock!_"

The bow literally screeched to a halt. "What?"

Mycroft Holmes glared at his eight-year-old brother. "Kindly cease that infernal racket before you damage my ears—and yours—permanently!"

Sherlock's large grey eyes blinked placidly, the epitome of innocence. "You could read in your bedroom—you wouldn't have to hear me then."

"Oh, for heaven's sakes…"

"Mycroft, that is enough," interjected a female voice. Both boys looked up as Cecile Holmes swept into the sitting room. "And, Sherlock, you're not to torture my Stradivarius so, remember?"

Sherlock looked down, appropriately chastened. "I'm sorry, Mother." His dark brows knitted together. "But I am so very _bored!_"

Cecile sighed and glanced out the rain-drummed windows. "Then we shall simply have to think of something for you to do. What about your chemical set?"

"I worked with that _all day_ yesterday," Sherlock groaned, gesturing with the bow in a language that only he knew. "I _cannot_ go back to it."

Mycroft rose from the settee. "I'm going to my room," he mumbled, massaging his forehead. "I have a headache…"

Cecile shook her head and stared out the window, biting her pretty lips back in thought. She glanced at her younger son and smiled. "I've an idea, _mon cher_. Would you like to learn to draw?"

The large grey eyes—her own eyes looking back at her—lit with excitement. "You'll teach me to draw as you can? _Oui, s'il vous plaît_!"

Cecile laughed. "Very well. While you put away the violin, I shall fetch some paper and pencils."

An hour later, they were on the floor, surrounded by half-finished attempts at sketches. In vain, Cecile begged her son to keep to drawing simple inanimate objects, including an egg and her husband's cherry-wood pipe. But Sherlock remained adamant in his desire to progress quickly in his blossoming new skill as an artist, taking to drawing the settee, the view out the window, and even his mother.

It was near dinnertime when Mycroft reentered the room, raising an eyebrow in a manner quite reminiscent of his father. "Mother, Sherlock, why on _earth_ did you vandalize the sitting room?"

Cecile laughed. "Merely drawing lessons, Mycroft. Come see what your brother has done."

Mycroft picked his way through the snowfall of foolscap and looked down at a picture Sherlock was working on. "What is it?"

"It's the meadow in the rain," Sherlock replied impatiently, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The teenage boy laughed disbelievingly. "It is nothing of the kind—it doesn't look anything like the meadow at all."

"Mycroft," Cecile said warningly.

"Yes, it does!" Sherlock insisted.

"Mycroft, I think you'd best leave," Cecile said sternly.

"But, Mother, it _doesn't_ look like—"

"Mycroft!" Cecile's eyes had hardened to twin points of steel, and both her boys knew that such a gaze was the predecessor of serious trouble.

Sherlock looked up as Mycroft hurried out of the room. "Mother, it _does_ look…" He frowned and looked down at the drawing, his young but precise mind analyzing the sketch for some moments before speaking again. "It doesn't," he concluded quietly.

"It is a start," Cecile insisted. "No artist has ever produced a masterpiece on his first attempt. You're just beginning to learn, Sherlock. Never mind what your brother says."

"But Mycroft's right about _everything!_"

"No, he is not. He is older and more experienced, yes, but _I_ am older and more experienced still."

Sherlock smiled briefly.

Cecile kissed him on the cheek before pulling him onto her lap. The little boy curled up instinctively in her protective embrace. "Sherlock," she murmured, "have I ever told you that my uncle was an artist?"

"Your French uncle?"

She smiled, not bothering to ask how he had concluded she spoke of her French relatives rather than her English. "Yes, my French uncle Vernet. He was a painter."

"And that's where you've inherited your own skill."

An eight-year-old with the spirit of an eight-year-old, but with the mind and even the speech patterns of an adult. Mycroft had been the same, but experience had not reconciled Cecile to the fact. She missed the infancies of both her sons, the bygone days in which they had truly behaved their age. She longed for one more chance at motherhood; but Sherlock's very existence was a miracle in and of itself, and she had never fully recovered.

"Yes," she said at last, smiling down at her little one. "That is where I've inherited my own skill. Perhaps you have the same skill in you, and then again, perhaps you have some other skill. Art runs in your veins, Sherlock, as surely as it runs in mine; and art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms."

Sherlock blinked up at her. "What do you think I'll be when I grow up?"

"I don't know what you'll do, _mon cher_. But whatever you choose to do with your life, you will always be my darling boy."

He nestled into her once more. "Good," he murmured contentedly.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

It was actually my mom's idea, when I was trying to come up with something for "blood," to use the prompt for _family_ blood. A few minutes later, I was smacking myself upside the head with the famous "art in the blood" quote. So, this is lovingly dedicated to her.

I love Cecile to pieces. She's rather a combination of myself and Mama—our personalities and our experiences. Cecile teaches her sons herself and encourages them to aim high, shows them how to be gentlemen but isn't afraid to play with them. Can you guess where Sherlock got his energy and bohemianism?

Now, if you want to hear more from Cecile—even actually see her playing with an _infant_ Sherlock—I'm afraid you will most definitely _have_ to get the book, peeps. She's not gonna appear again this side of number 50.

Also, it was not just Sherlock's great-uncle who was a painter, but also his great-_grandfather_ and his great-_great_-grandfather Vernet. Check out Wikipedia (and thanks to Aragonite's _Sword for the Defense_ series for alerting me to this fact!).

Next Wednesday, "Fight," starring Mycroft in a heroic role. ^_^

_**Please review!**___


	27. Fight

**Author's Note:**

New blog post up! Just talkin' 'bout writin', but you might be interested. ;D Sometime, maybe I'll blog about all the Canon tie-ins I have (which make up a fair percentage, yayz!).

Oh yes, and so terribly glad that everybody likes Cecile! Like I said, I love her to pieces. =D

**Status: 65 out 100 complete.**

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: (*a stormy version of Vivaldi's "Winter" from _The Four Seasons_ comes through the door*) Hey, I resent that! Mycroft's just being a big brother! (And being a big sister, I should know, lol—Mycroft's reactions were rather based off some of my own experiences.) Totally fair! I can't give you everything for free, or it's not fair to me! (And I so did NOT mean to rhyme, double lol.) Thank you—and Cecile thanks you, too!

Spockologist: Thank you! As far as "Sherlock's very existence" goes, no Holmesian brains need apply to deduce the meaning, my dear Spockologist. (Although it helps if you know a couple of the family/children ideas that end up weaving themselves into _most_ of my fics, regardless of fandom.) *uses the Force to return brownies to me—triumphant smirk* Maybe it _was_ Granada's GREE (love My in that) that had me thinking that Mycroft could be a hero in the first place—dunno. But Mycroft is younger and not so… obese… here. ;D

nomdeplume30: Thanks for the multiple reviews! Yeah, I can't see/hear the word "sniggering" without thinking of MFL, either, lol. And yes, you'd think Holmes'd know better than to go out without Watson, but… eesh, that man just never learns, does he? ;D And lastly about Watson blowing up at Holmes… well, it certainly was coming, and maybe that _was_ a wakeup call. Or maybe it's even a predecessor to a fic further down the line, one in which Holmes is, for the first time, seriously regretting his addiction. …Thank you very much!

reflekshun: Thanks, and you're welcome!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: D'awww, thank you so much! *melts* Victory!

SabrinaPhynn: Thank you! I know how it feels, too, since I have several siblings and they're all younger. ;D Ooo, glad you liked those lines, lol! And congrats on the job! *high five*

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==27. Fight==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _Taller at sixteen than many adult men and still growing, Mycroft towered both physically and mentally over __**all**__ members of his generation_.  
Warnings: brief kid violence  
Word Count: 457

Nine-year-old Sherlock Holmes was slim, tall for his age, insatiably curious, unflaggingly energetic, enthusiastically imaginative, unquestionably brilliant, and oftentimes annoying. On either side of the family, the Holmeses or the Vernets, the dynamics with the cousins were the same: the younger ones looked up to him with undisguised awe, while most of the older ones looked down on him with contempt. To the older cousins' way of thinking, it was not fair that someone so young should be so much smarter than they.

Sherlock was able to run verbal circles around anyone twice his age. This ability did nothing to encourage familial affection.

Sixteen-year-old Mycroft was Sherlock's unofficially established protector. Taller at sixteen than many adult men and still growing, Mycroft towered both physically and mentally over _all_ members of his generation, and the Holmes breed was not known for small stature. His little brother could irritate him right into a migraine—quite often, in fact, thanks to the Stradivarius—but Sherlock was _Mycroft's_ brother, and _dashed_ if he'd let anyone hurt the lad.

Their cousins usually knew better than to tangle with Mycroft, who could not only flay the skin off a body with his tongue but could—in all probability—hammer that body into a pulp with his large hands. The latter had never been tested, but there was little doubt that he could do it—unlike the will-o-th'-wisp Sherlock, Mycroft had a large build to fill in his burgeoning six feet.

However, not all the cousins were blessed with even a percentage of the Brothers' Holmes brains. On one visit to Aunt Edith's (their father's sister), Mycroft came across Sherlock giving Cousin Ronald a right proper tongue-lashing for being mean-spirited to Ronald's little sister Agnes. Ronald's reply was to lift the younger boy into the air, pin him to the wall, and snarl something about keeping Sherlock's busybody nose out of others' affairs.

The next moment, Sherlock's eyes lit up with anticipation, and Ronald felt a tap on his shoulder. "It is quite cowardly to antagonize a smaller boy, sir," a voice said coolly. The teenage boy turned around to see a large fist crashing right into his face. Sherlock dropped to the floor as Mycroft's well-placed blow felled their cousin.

Ronald later offered to his parents some excuse about crashing into a door by way of explaining the swelling purple around his eye. Agnes was too in awe of Mycroft to say otherwise. Sherlock certainly was not about to tell on his protector.

Later on, the brothers were strolling the grounds when Mycroft said, "Sherlock, my boy, I believe it is time I taught you how to box." Little did he know the force he was about to unleash through those combat lessons.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

*grins* Hurray for Mycroft! Heroic Mycroft is heroic. This one is one of the two that my dad really liked. =)

Just for the record, I am _very_ pro self-defense. If a child is being picked on, he should _not_ "turn the other cheek"—he should fight back. You know, we Granada fans love Holmes beating up Woodley in SOLI, but the fact is that Holmes is acting upon the same principle of self-defense. Everyone has the inherent, God-given right to defend themselves—it's the reason why the United States of America ever came into being in the first place.

Next Friday, "Effort"—the sequel. ;-) Cute Sherlock is cute.

_**Please review!**_


	28. Effort

**To my reviewers:**

Yesterday, I posted up a review on the climax of Granada's "Greek Interpreter" on my blog. Tomorrow, it's a few words on the BBC radio show with Clive Merrison. (Or maybe today, depending on when I get the post written.)

Folks, if you could send a few prayers my way, that would be really appreciated. I'm… slowing down on AMM. I keep running dry on inspiration and drive. You'd think the goal of money-money-money would help, but… it's not. I don't know what's wrong with me this week—I only know that I've done _half_ of what I did last week. That's not good at all. I can't be burning out now!

Also, I have a serious question for you, and I'd appreciate an honest answer. *deep breath* Okay, yesterday, my dad had just finished one of my printouts, and he was absolutely blown away. He even said that maybe I was the next Tom Clancy. O.O Whoa. But then, when trying to gauge just how good I am, I inevitably fall back on comparing myself to KCS and Aragonite, the two women that I hold as absolute tops in the Sherlock Holmes fandom. (If you haven't read any of their stuff, shame on you—start crackin' now. Seriously, you have no excuse _not_ to.) And I start thinking, _No __**way**__ I'm as good as them_.

Now for the question—two, actually. **1.** _How good do you think I really am?_ You can compare me to someone else, if you like, or you can just rate me on my own merit—either way, you won't hurt my feelings; I'm looking for an honest opinion. **2.** _If you saw AMM in a bookstore_ (maybe you will someday, you never know) _and you read the dust jacket, and maybe one of the stories inside—knowing __**nothing**__ about me, having __**no**__ interaction with me whatsoever prior to this—would you still buy it?_ I mean, I'm pretty sure that most of you regular and semi-regular reviewers will buy the book, and I'm sure that a lot of my readers will just to see the stuff that I've hinted at that I won't post online, like more additions to the torture series and more of Cecile. But there's an interaction here, and you've gotten to see this build from the foundation up. You've been more involved than you would be in the writing of a normal book. But if you _hadn't_ been, would you still buy it?

**Status: 66 out of 100 complete (see what I mean?).**

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: (*violin stops at the sounds of writing and taping, starts back up with the Reichenbach theme*) Eep, I have enough trouble with my brother three years my junior—can't imagine a brother just a year older than me. O.o …Nor can I imagine being the youngest. I really can't. Mycroft is like his brother—he's just a big ole softie deep down. Thank you!

insideouttuoedisni: *high five to fellow Mycroft fan* Thank you!

SabrinaPhynn: _Exactly_—_nobody_ messes with Sherlock but Mycroft, lol! Oh, wow—gee, I wish _my_ brothers would teach _me_ how to actually defend myself against them… Congrats. =)

Spockologist: Isn't Mycroft just terrific? And I'm glad you think Sherlock is so cute, and that you love the opening description and the closing sentence. (Sherlock: *looks up* May I have a second, please? *puppy eyes*)

reflekshun: Thanks!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==28. Effort==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _"Not fair," Sherlock mumbled, not looking up. "You're so much bigger than me."_  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 348

Sherlock flopped onto the grass with an explosive sigh, lying down and throwing his thin arm over his eyes. "Sherlock," said Mycroft's voice above him. He ignored the prompting and rolled over onto his side, curling into a ball.

"Sherlock, you will never learn if you persisting in quitting early."

"Not fair," the little boy mumbled, not looking up. "You're so much bigger than me."

"Than I," Mycroft corrected absently. "Sherlock, do come on. You'll always be thin, so you need to learn to take down men beyond your own weight class."

"Is that even _possible?_" came the muffled moan.

"I've heard of two or three men able to do so, yes," Mycroft said with certainty.

The change was instantaneous: one moment, Sherlock was curled up on the ground, and the next moment, he was springing into the air, all energy and enthusiasm. "Right-o, then, brother mine!" he cried. If Mycroft were to say that the earth would stop spinning, Sherlock would have believed him—something about the older boy's edeictic memory and vast stores of knowledge lent him an air of omniscience.

Mycroft sighed. He really detested most physical exertions, and it remained a wonder even to himself that he did not mind boxing. He certainly didn't mind Sherlock knowing the sport—the lad needed to know how to defend himself with more than his quick wit, at any rate—but why, oh, _why_ had Mycroft volunteered himself for tutoring? What had possessed him? He was lazy, he knew it, and—what was probably worse—he wasn't at all ashamed of the fact! As long as his brain remained active, he was content.

And now he had put himself in the position of boxing trainer to Sherlock.

Thank heaven Sherlock was _nothing_ if not a quick study. If all went well, Mycroft could soon return to his books with a contented conscience.

He did not count on Sherlock wanting, years later, to spar every time the elder brother came home from London. When Mycroft complained about it, Sherlock simply laughed and said, "_C'est la vie, mon frère_."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

You know, if Mycroft leaves for college at this same age (this story takes place in the summer), then Sherlock becomes the man of the house at age 9 by default. Daddy isn't home much 'cause he works for the government, so… Nine-year-old Sherlock Holmes, man of the house. Okay, that's just _awfully _cute.

Next Monday… welp, we go back to more serious stuff—"Exhaustion," to be precise. *sighs* This week was a lovely break from the angst.

_**Please review!**_


	29. Exhaustion

**Author's Note:**

You guys are seriously the best, you know that? *big group hug* I was dealing with depression born of a week of dreary weather and very little inspiration, and I think that just exacerbated my self-doubt. That's not to say that I haven't played the comparison game before in the past few months, but this past week just kinda brought it to a head.

So, I'm going to try to stop comparing myself to other people. I think my biggest problem is that I have an artistic temperament, in just about the fullest sense of that stereotype. My natural inclination is to procrastinate; I get hyper when I'm excited and brood when I'm depressed; I have problems sometimes with wrapping my mind around technical details (don't mistake _technical_ for technological); and I have a very vivid imagination. I can sometimes be at the mercy of my own mind, quite literally.

Thank you all for helping to pull me out of my mild "black mood"! =) In fact, that very day, I went on to finish one installment and write two more! (They were short, but they were still adequate prompt fills.)

And, y'know, if I've contributed nothing else the fandom, I think I started something with _A Study in Stardom_, and more importantly, I feel like I've given the fandom Cecile Holmes. You folks have raved about her, and that just thrills me to no end.

And I know that I have a unique Sherlock Holmes. He's part Canon, part Jeremy Brett, part other fans', and at the same time, there's a part of him that's uniquely mine. And _that_ is certainly worth a sense of accomplishment.

Now, if I may direct you all to Friday's blog post? It gives you a little glimpse of my next SH project—a full _series_, which will be the story of the long conflict of Holmes & Co. VS Moriarty's empire: _Deliver Us From Evil_. Please check it out!

**Status: 75 out of 100 complete THREE QUARTERS FINISHED!** (Nine completed just over the weekend! In just two weeks, I churned out TWENTY-FIVE installments! O.O)

**To my reviewers:**

O'FoggageGreen: *giggles* You have approximately 48 hours between weekday installments and 72 hours between Friday and Monday. Maybe next time you'll get it in, in time. ^_^ Glad you love Cecile and protective!Mycroft (getting beat up by him _is_ a scary thought, isn't it?). I've written my own fantasy novel but it's never been fully finished and published (check out my other blog, The Phoenix and the Dragon). Unfortunately, my style in my own created universe is stilted and cramped—some of the characters are alive, but I think that most of them have yet to truly live. My style—my true style—is best seen in fanfiction. And if you're still in school, then I'm at _least_ 3-4 years your senior. ;D Thank you so much!

Moonspun Dragon: My stories read quickly, eh? Just wait till I start tossing epics out at you. ;D And I don't make very many spelling/grammatical errors—those were two of my best subjects in high school. I _love_ engaging with my readers! It's part of the experience! I'm actually going to miss doing this once the book is out—it won't be the same! "Lord of the Manor"—that's it! _That's_ what he'd be! And that's what big brothers (and sisters) are for, y'know: getting their little sibs to follow the "try, try again" rule. It's 'cause we've had more life-experience, and we know it's good for you. xD Thank you very much!

Spockologist: Hmm, I wonder *snickers* if Sherlock walks around when talking like my little brother does… Thank you so much for that beautiful pep talk. =) Ooo, and for the return of the brownies! Yes, Sky very much needs chocolate—she finds it hard to function for very long without!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Totally agree with you about Mycroft—he does love his brother, and I dare anybody to prove otherwise with the Canon. And I'm glad that "Effort" is one of your faves! And thank you so much for the wonderful encouragement!

reflekshun: Thank you!

SabrinaPhynn: Ach, I can only take a break if I'm running low on inspiration. CHOCOLATE CAKE~! OMNOMNOM… I'll pass on the milk, though—my stomach can't handle it. =D Glad you love the brothers' dynamics—I love writing them! Yeah, can't you just see Sherlock: "All right, big brother, put 'em up, put 'em up." *dancing around Mycroft* Mycroft: "Cut it out!" *falls back giggling* Well, good for you for remembering how to defend yourself! Girl-defense power! Big brothers (and sisters) definitely have to be careful about what they're saying, 'cause you never know when them little peeps is gonna take what you said and totally turn it around. Thank you very much!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==29. Exhaustion==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _Sherlock Holmes cannot be alive, not yet. To resurrect him now would be to endanger not only his own life…_  
Warnings: descriptive imagery of pain; angst  
Word Count: 311

The light here is brilliant, sharp, and unforgiving. The stark bright blue of the sky is nearly as painful as the blinding white of the snow. Shards of burning, crystalline light bore directly into his skull and throb within.

_Dark glasses. You should have thought to procure a pair of dark glasses_.

Even when he shuts his eyes, residue from the glare dances behind his eyelids, and that is almost worse.

A quiet voice drifts toward him, the only soft thing in this harsh land. He does not yet know each word in its individuality, but the tone leaves no doubt. _"Are you all right?"_

He nods and waves a limp hand. _Liar_. He is _not_ all right. _You have not been all right for a long time_.

He is not himself. Literally. His name is Sigerson. He is a Norwegian, blond, eccentric, adventurous. He is not English, dark-haired, cunning… Sherlock Holmes died in the Falls, just as his dearest friend believes.

_The raw pain in his voice as he called out to you… you could barely keep from answering him…_

Sherlock Holmes cannot be alive, not yet. To resurrect him now would be to endanger not only his own life but the lives of an army veteran, his wife, and their son. For their sake, Sherlock Holmes is dead.

And Sigerson is weary of living. Sigerson exists as a mask only, and the man beneath the mask is, for the first time in his existence, tired of living a lie. The man beneath the mask longs for a warm hearth, a comfortable armchair, a wall pockmarked with bullets, an heirloom Stradivarius… A friend who no longer resides in that place, but is only a cab's ride away.

_My dear, dear Watson…_

Sherlock Holmes is alive. Sherlock Holmes is tired of living a lie. And Sherlock Holmes wants to go home.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

"_Here we go…this is not as clear-cut as I like to write; Holmes is falling victim to illness and introspection—always a bad thing when isolated. Consider this my attempt to vaccinate myself against the eternal profic out there who treated Holmes' hiatus like it was some kind of happy tea-party and swashbuckling adventure._" —Aragonite, _A Sword for the Defense_

I'm not criticizing the stories out there that do subscribe to that idea, or something akin to Baring-Gould (like SabrinaPhynn's _Diary of the Woman_—I really enjoy that fic!). But Aragonite's author's note got me thinking hard about the Hiatus, and about how I wanted to go about it. I think I wrote this installment about the same time that I read that note and the accompanying chapter, a few weeks ago. You'll be seeing this and more from Holmes on Hiatus in the future _Deliver Us From Evil_ series (although don't expect the book this scene will appear in for another year or so—there will be three novels preceding it!).

And please keep track of the blog—I think things might be starting to roll there…

Anyway, I'm proud of this one, especially the descriptive opening paragraph. I love the poetic freedom present tense gives you!

Next Wednesday… ah, yes, "Limp." I'm quite proud of this one, actually.

_**Please review!**_


	30. Limp

**Author's Note:**

Wow. Well, I said I was proud of that last one, and my sentiments were vindicated in your lovely reviews. Thank you all!

New blog-post today, already up—it lays out the game plan for AMM and afterwards and discusses the _Deliver Us From Evil_ project in greater detail. Please go read it, because it's important. You can access the blog, A Study in Sherlockiana, from my profile.

Btw, yesterday, I created a file that compiled all the AMM stories. It turned out to be 73 pages long; 410 KB in size; 35,017 words total, including the chapter titles; with an average of 448.9 words per story. I would venture to guess that 40 percent of the stories are 100-300 words (short), another 40 are 300-600 (middling), and 20 percent (if even that) are 800-1,200 words (long). …I really can't wait to be done; I'm tired, and this is draining my creativity as _nothing_ ever has before. (I was up till nearly 11 last night getting a story done—_ yuck_.) And sometimes, I even want to write something about _another_ character to fill out a prompt, and I have to remind myself that these are all about Sherlock Holmes _specifically_.

Even today's story. (You'll see what I mean in a minute.)

**Status: 79 out 100 complete.**

**To my reviewers:**

nomdeplume30: Thank you! Glad that his weariness came through so well. Poor Holmes.

Moonspun Dragon: Ha-ha, thanks, hon! (Although… you never know… depressed _could_ be my normal self… *shifty eyes*) …Just kidding. Mostly. ;D Well, I _will_ be continuing _Stardom_, once AMM is out of the way—check today's blog-post for that. *_Skyfire_ tries to imagine epic Skyfire style…* …Yeah. xDDD Good grief, my siblings and I _help_ each other when we're having problems with our computer games, lol. (Holmes: "Two to three _years_? That's etern—I mean, _entirely_ too long! …Are you quite certain?" *puppy eyes*) Thank you! (Oh, and btw, I can't _believe_ you used that avvie as your YT channel background! Still more that your friend commented on _my_ channel about it. *cracks up*)

Spockologist: Y'know, I've never seen that show. What's it like? I agree; Holmes needs a nice long, comforting hug, the poor dear. Ha-ha, _Aragonite_ is brilliant—you really _must_ read her _Sword_ series. Yay for returning to the bandwagon! *breaks out the confetti* …Me: -_- "Sherlock, hon, would you mind finding the brownies for me?" Holmes: "Shall I be allowed to partake of the confections?" Me: "Of course!" Holmes: "Very well. Spockologist!"

Kem: Thank you so much! Especially… it's so very special for me to hear that my stories are sort of nostalgic for you. =)

insideouttuoedisni: Thank you very much! *blushes* So glad you enjoyed it so much!

SabrinaPhynn: Yeah… doncha just want to give him a big hug? …Yeees, Watson has a son… It's mixed emotions for me on that, because on one hand I want there to be a child, and on the other hand, we know Watson's totally alone by April 1894… But yes, he _does_ have a baby boy—you can check out "Unraveling the Truth" from my profile, in which Watson and Lestrade briefly talk about little Arthur Sherlock. You're welcome for the plug—now I must go review, musn't I? I seriously can't wait for more! (And who is this Diva person? *grins*) A robin in the rain. Rrrobin in the rrrain. (Can't you just hear Jeremy say that?)

O'FoggageGreen: I know what you mean about "lots of things to do." Really. And original fantasy is tough as all get out—you have to build up the world and characters from scratch, and then the characters aren't always as real as characters set in the real world can be. God bless you with yours! Anyway, thank you very much! *blushes*

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==30. Limp==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _Why, oh, why did __**Watson**__ have to be the one to pay the price for __**Holmes's**__ failure?_  
Warnings: brief violence  
Word Count: 368

"Your leg will stand it?"

He eventually lost count of the times he had asked that question. With time, the bitterness faded, but he never quite forgot. The limp was a constant reminder.

But why, oh, why did _Watson_ have to be the one to pay the price for _Holmes's_ failure?

"_**Argh**__!"_

"_WATSON!"_

"_St-steady on… old man. I'm… argh… it's not…"_

Bullets flew back and forth. The gunfire brought the police, which, in all likelihood, saved Watson's life. But Sherlock Holmes would never forget the cry, the abruptly white face, Watson's heavy drop to the ground…

And the blood. _Watson's_ blood.

He knelt beside the doctor and swiftly pressed his own handkerchief to the wound. _"Tell me how to manage this,"_ he said in clipped voice that just barely restrained the emotions roiling within.

Two hazel eyes, normally warm and now diluted with pain, focused on him. _"Jezail,"_ Watson breathed. _"It's a Jezail."_

"_Watson!"_ He shook the man lightly.

"_Seven years and—" _Watson sucked for breath—_"thousands of miles from Afghanistan… and it's a __**Jezail**__."_ The army veteran's voice was drenched in irony and—Holmes trembled to hear it—near hysteria.

"_Watson, get a hold of yourself, man, and tell me __**how the blazes I'm to treat this!**__"_

That seemed to snap Watson out of the frighteningly fey mood he was falling into, and he did as Holmes ordered. He obeyed Holmes's orders. The thought sickened the detective to his stomach.

Watson followed Holmes wherever he went… and it had led to a Jezail bullet—the second in his lifetime—in the leg.

Holmes had never hated himself more.

Now Watson was married and moved out, and had little time to aid Holmes in his cases. Holmes deserved it. _His_ lapse in judgment had led to Watson's permanent limp. Loneliness and even an increased risk of danger were an unworthy penance.

Mary Morstan was probably the saving of John Hamish Watson. The fool doctor would follow Holmes off a cliff.

In the spring of 1891, the doctor's difficulty in climbing the Alpine hills reminded Holmes all too vividly of that fiasco back in '88. He would not allow Watson to follow him into death. Not this time.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

"_Baring-Gould hypothesizes that Watson was hit by a jezail while helping Holmes on a case not long before the events of SIGN. I'm inclined to agree, since Watson says he had had a bullet pass through his leg "recently" and at least seven years had lapsed between Maiwand and SIGN – hardly recent. Also, although we get some specific details about his shoulder in STUDY, there is no mention of a leg wound. Why would he bother to mention one but not the other?_" —Pompey, _More Things That Never Happened to Sherlock Holmes_

Now, I've never read Baring-Gould, but I disagree with some of the stuff he hypothesized (such as Watson having _three_ wives, and Holmes and Irene having an illegitimate son). HOWEVER. I agree with _this_. It's really only logical.

Therefore, this is officially part of my personal canon, occurring after VALL (which I set in the same year as SIGN), but early still in the year—February, probably. And isn't it ironic that, though Holmes initially moans over the idea of Watson getting married, he accepts the thing so far as to believe it might have even saved Watson's life?

This one *gets delicious shivers* I can really _see_ in my mind's eye like a film—starring Jeremy Brett and David Burke, of course. ;D Like I said before, I'm proud of this, this time for the dynamics and the dialogue.

Next Friday… "Stranded." More _inspired by_ the prompt than actually _fulfilling_ it, I think, but you can judge for yourself. Missing scene from HOUN. ^_^

_**Please review!**_


	31. Struggle

**Author's Note:**

Oops. OOPS. I got "3_2_. Stranded" mixed up with "3_1_. Struggle"! *blushes* Dreadfully sorry for the mix-up, folks—"Stranded" comes next Monday! Ha, for once, you guys are almost totally blindsided as to what you're about to read—if it weren't for the teaser in the summary, you would be!

As for a little update on the book—I just wrote one installment yesterday which really broke my heart to write. Methinks tissues shall be needed for that. On a brighter note, I also wrote an installment from the POV of a very evil person. I leave you to guess—it shouldn't be too hard. ^_^

I might be posting on my blog today or tomorrow—what about, I'm not sure. Whatever it is, it'll be good. ;D

**Status: 83 out of 100 complete.**

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: Thank you very much! =) Yeah, poor Watson… *pouts sympathetically* Come to find out, Jezail bullets were a little bit like grape shot or shrapnel—certainly, once one was _in_ you, it was spreading out on impact in little pieces. There wasn't even an actual _bullet_ left to extract. Ah, Diva!Irene. ;D Got it. Glad you're enjoying your job, even if it doesn't last forever!

Elerrina Star: Oooo, goosebumps… Great hearing from you again! =) Thank you so much!

O'FoggageGreen: I hear ya (on the whole fantasy thing)… I _really_ liked the theory of Watson being shot on a case, and I remember thinking _I want to write that_. And I think there's an interesting contrast between my hypothesized situation and the famous climax of 3GAR, in which poor Watson is shot in the leg _again_. You _really_ need to see the Granada series, you know—I'll keep pestering you till you do! ^_^ I could name you several Granada/Canon crossovers (one of my own fics included) to get you in the mood~! …Anyway, thank you!

Moonspun Dragon: Ahhh. (Holmes: *starts hyperventilating* "Thr-three… _years?_ WATSON!") Aww, glad you like that avvie so much—that's one of my favorites, too. Such a beautiful smile! As to Jezails… Jezails were handcrafted muskets, and I've already described the "bullets"—it's possible, if a criminal had ties to Afghanistan. (Check out fantastic KCS/Pompey collab on Pompey's profile _The Covenant and the Oath_.) Okay, if he married Mary three times, that would seriously be disturbing. At any rate, the one marriage that Baring-Gould hypothesizes that I totally disregard is his theoretical "pre-Mary" marriage, due to Watson's (or Doyle's—could be Doyle's fault ^_^) carelessness with dates. Anyway, thank you!

Spockologist: ^_- (raised eyebrow) Anyway… I'm afraid I can't give you the _beginning_ of the story, but I can give you the _continuation_. In the book. ;D And in first-person Holmes. M'kay, I'll check that show out sometime—I've read about it, but I wondered what it was like. (Holmes: *with dignity* "Then you would do well not to share those brownies _at all_, in the first place.") …Eesh, these little bitty roleplays I do with you guys, lol. 'T'any rate, thanks!

nomdeplume30: Hmm, that is a good point about Holmes. If that were a standalone story, I might agree and change it. However… I'm not sure. I wrote a sequel to it (as I told Spockologist), and it's pretty intense—and I think it does makes Holmes's self-loathing at least a bit more plausible. I suppose you can judge for yourself when the book comes out? I am sorry, though, that it didn't agree with you. On the other hand, I'm very glad you loved everything else. =) I loved writing the part when Watson's wounded and reacting to the bullet—that was a really great moment for me. Thrilled you think it exceptional. Thank you!

reflekshun: Thank you!

medcat: Thank you for both reviews, and thank you for your answers to my questions! They were very encouraging!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==31. Struggle==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _It __**hurt**__. Withdrawal __**hurt**__. And the pain was only the beginning_.  
Warnings: drugs  
Word Count: 191

Unwillingly, his eyes slid toward his desk.

_No. I will not. Concentrate upon something else._

One hour. One hour till Watson returned home.

_I can do this._

Watson had been away three hours already. Holmes had been alone for three hours with his temptation.

_I must overcome this on my own. Watson cannot help._

But it was so much _easier_ when Watson was around the place!

_Think of something else._

Cocaine. Watson. Syringe. Watson. Morocco case. Watson.

_STOP._

It _hurt_. Withdrawal _hurt_. And the pain was only the beginning.

_You are a bloody idiot, Sherlock Holmes._

He had overdosed. Watson said his survival had been a near thing. Now he was on withdrawal.

_Choice of evils. Continue on with a dangerous drug, or endure all the marvels of abstaining from it?_

He had been through mild withdrawal before, though those symptoms were usually swallowed up in the thrill of a case. He had _never_ experienced _this_.

_I deserve this._

That was the naked, awful truth. He deserved it. He had _known better_, and _he had continued anyway_.

_God help me, for I cannot do this alone. I cannot do this alone._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

*shivers* Like it? Personally, I really enjoyed writing the choppy sentences and the somewhat broken thoughts in-between the narration. I held back on going on to write an actual "Holmes says no" scene because I was afraid of getting too close to KCS's _Broken and Buried_—however, now that it's been a little while since I've read that fic, I might very well try to do such a scene somewhere around the last few prompts. I.e. if you want to see it… well, heh, you know the drill. ;D

Okay, HOUN next Monday. Promise. =D

_**Please review!**_


	32. Stranded

**Author's Note:**

Look at that—190 reviews! I betcha I'll hit 200 before Thursday! YEEHAAAAW~!

Oh, and would you believe I have yet ANOTHER book idea? I'll have to blog about it later—my parents definitely think it's a good idea. I'll still probably get started on _Deliver Us From Evil_ before I start anything else, though. Anyway, keep an eye on the blog—a new post will probably be up as soon as I can type it out.

Speaking of the series, to kind of make up for "Those Dark Hours," I'm starting a new little collection of ficlets, "A Mother's Heart." Please check it out!

**Status: 86 out of 100 complete (if I can get 14 done by Sunday, it really will be finished by Easter!).**

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: (Holmes: *finds himself in the awkward position of being hugged, awkwardly but gamely tries to return it*) Yes, indeed! Yeah, I wish so much he hadn't been so careless! Thank you!

SabrinaPhynn: (Holmes: *looks relieved* "Your kind efforts, my good woman, are very much appreciated.") …Holy COW, all the roleplaying I do with you peeps, LOL! Ooo, brownies again!

Spockologist: You ought to read KCS's _Broken and Buried_ if you haven't already—it deals in-depth with Holmes kicking the habit (in the Granada-verse, actually), and Watson realizes that Holmes can't properly deal with things if he's being babysat 24-7. Which is probably one of the reasons why Watson's away in my own story. Yup, sorry—hey, I guarantee it'll be worth the wait. It's narrated by Holmes himself, and it's over 1,200 words! Nice long wrap-up. ^_^ Ha-ha, very smooth. *grins back* (Holmes: "Very much, thank you." *takes brownie… tosses it to Skyfire* Me: "Love you, Sherlock!" Holmes: *innocent look at Spockologist*)

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Aw, "Exhaustion" almost made you cry? That's lov—I mean, terrible! ^_^ Thanks so much! Also thanks for the review on "Limp." And as for "Struggle," thank you! *feels warm and fuzzy inside* Ha-ha, just wait till Wednesday—it's another Mycroft fic coming up, and I bet it'll top your favorites again! =D As to the P.S., no, I haven't—I've read some of her stuff, but not all. I'll have to check that out, thanks!

reflekshun: Thank you!

LeDragonQuiMangeDuPoisson: First of all, thank you for the all the lovely reviews! Second you need not be ashamed of either reviewing late or giving me long reviews—the first I don't mind, and the second I adore! Thank you for the encouragement, and I completely understand where you're coming from about passing a book by—I tend to go through fandom phases, myself, so… yeah, I understand. ;D (About the iPod) Ahhh, got it. Hey, it's okay—no biggie! Thank you again for reviewing!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==32. Stranded==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _Rain. And it was coming_ _right through_ _the nearly nonexistent roof of the hut_.  
Warnings: censored language, lol  
Word Count: 198

**October 17****th****, 1887: Dartmoor**

He awoke to water dribbling down his face. His grey eyes flashed open and looked up.

Rain. And it was coming _right through_ _the nearly nonexistent roof of the hut_. Thinking a few things not lawful to be uttered, he pushed himself up and pulled down the earflaps of his deerstalker cap.

At the rate the rain was falling, he would be contracting pneumonia long before the day was out. _Watson will have my hide_. And rightfully so. What a perfect _imbecile_ he was to have remained out here when he had indeed observed yesterday that heavier rains were on their way!

There was nothing else for it. For his own well-being, he had to cross the moor and take shelter in less primitive quarters. He would be no good to Sir Henry or Watson if taken down by fever.

Muttering a string of colorful language that would make a sailor proud, Sherlock Holmes exited his little hut and set out across the moor. This change of scenery was not a setback, merely an annoyance. Stapleton would pay the price for his past murder eventually—and Holmes prayed there would not be a second.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_October 17th. All day today the rain poured down (…) I thought of (…) the figure against the moon. Was he also out in that deluged—the unseen watcher, the man of darkness?_ —Dr. Watson, _The Hound of the Baskervilles_

See? Missing scene! "Stranded" was giving me a hard time, and then the idea eventually occurred to me of Sherlock out on the moor in HOUN, and what if rained? Then I remembered that it _had_ indeed rained while he'd been out there, so I searched the book for the exact circumstances, and found the above passage! _Voila_!

Have you ever _seen_ any of those ancient Dartmoor huts? In one area at least, they're all just a couple of layers of brick left (thanks go to BBC's ancient Britain series for this knowledge). Sherlock's hut, certainly, was much higher (Watson could not see inside from the outside), but Watson records: _When I thought of the heavy rains and looked at the gaping roof I understood how strong and immutable must be the purpose which had kept him in that inhospitable abode_. Doubtless Sherlock was out there as much as he could possibly be, but constant exposure to English October rains will most certainly bring a man down with cold if not pneumonia.

Fortunately, Sherlock is smart enough to know this. I wonder if any of the film versions—like a certain actor I'm in love with *cough-_Jeremy_-cough* (I've never seen Granada's HOUN)—incorporate a scene like this one? *shrugs*

Next Wednesday, "Promise." It's another Mycroft/Sherlock moment, about ten or so years after "Effort."

_**Please review!**_


	33. Promise

**Author's Note:**

Well, I did put up that blog post on Monday. If you haven't read it, the story idea is a time-travel one, rather of a sci-fi flavor in that modern-day supertech meets Victorian London. And Sherlock Holmes. And a modern criminal genius prepares to pair up with Professor Moriarty. Got you interested yet? ;D

**Status: 93 out of 100 complete!**

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: *giggles* Thank you! Ooo, _Sherlock_!shock blankets, FTW! *laughs* I think Holmes in bad situations brings the Mrs. Hudson out in us mother-types, lol. (Read this: http : / / brettish (dot) com / tbev1-11 (dot) html -I think it explains the phenomenon quite well. ^_^)

Moonspun Dragon: Actually, a cave makes more sense—less exposure to the elements… (Am now trying to find clips that aren't numbered parts of the movie—I don't want to take up memory downloading the whole thing, and I don't "watch" stuff on YouTube.) Well, it was certainly one of the few times in his life he went camping, lol.

O'FoggageGreen: Hmm, that review did not go through. Huh. Care to give it another go? ;D …Wait a sec, right after you woke up, on your _phone_? *giggles* Ooo, stick around—there are more missing scenes and extended scenes comin' up! ^_^ Thank you!

Spockologist: Thanks! (Holmes: "What can I say—I have a 'working' relationship to maintain." *shrugs and looks to Skyfire, who shrugs back* Me: "Wanna help me bake our own?" Holmes: "If you show me what to do…")

nomdeplume30: Thank you! Ha-ha, it'd be like Star Wars: Holmes: "I was –_achoo!_– here to be your backup." Watson: *pointed look* "Good job." *falls over giggling*

reflekshun: Thank you! Glad you liked the mental images!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==33. Promise==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _Mycroft took in his brother's appearance with a well-practiced eye… Sherlock's grief was eating him alive._  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: drouble

"Sherlock, do _calm yourself down_."

"I can't! I… You are all that I have left in the _world_, brother mine, and now _you_ are in danger! I must be under some kind of dreadful curse for everyone I love to leave me."

"Sherlock, of all the nons—"

"Don't… don't you leave me, too."

"Sherlock—"

"Promise me. _Please_."

The words hung heavily in the air between them. Mycroft took in his brother's appearance with a well-practiced eye: the unhealthy pallor of the once-bronzed skin, the clothes hanging limply on a skeletal frame, the dark rings beneath the eyes… the eyes themselves, bloodshot and haunted.

Dear God, Sherlock's grief was _eating him alive_.

"I promise," Mycroft said quietly. They both knew that he could not truly promise that, but Sherlock needed to hear the words spoken. Mycroft could do that much.

The younger brother nodded slowly. "Thank you." He looked nearly ready to collapse.

Mycroft swiftly stepped forward and engulfed Sherlock in his embrace. Sherlock tensed briefly, then relaxed. A few moments later, his head was buried into the older man's shoulder, and silent sobs wracked his slender body.

He needed an outlet for his grief. Mycroft let him cry.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

If you've read my "Future Sherlockian Novels" post, you may recognize this installment as being related to hopeful future novel, _Hours Before Dawn_. In fact, this installment could easily be as a sequel to the very first installment of AMM, "Murder."

Sherlock is 20 at the oldest, here. And Mycroft is my hero for being such a good big brother.

Next Friday… oh. Oh! "Fear." Don't worry, guys—you'll love it, I promise!

_**Please review!**_


	34. Fear

**Author's Note:**

A blessed Good Friday, and a blessed Easter to you all!

…This evening, I'm off to sing a cappella at a Good Friday service that is being shared by FOUR churches. That could well be two hundred people, my largest audience ever. O.O I've been singing solos in church since I was eight, and now, well over a decade later, my heart _still_ pounds in my throat when I do solos! Or duets with my sister, for that matter!

Btw, you know what I've just thought of? FFN has a Watson C2, a Lestrade C2, a Yarder C2… but no Mycroft! This must be rectified! (I already have a C2 in another fandom and cannot, sadly, create it myself.) Seriously, there _should_ be a "Diogenes Club" (or if you can think of a better name…?) C2 here on the site!

**Status: NINETY-SEVEN out of 100 complete!**

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: I know—isn't he just the greatest? And you're welcome! (Sorry for the momentary confusion.) …Oh _man_, Jenn, you spoil me with all these treats! (Speaking of which, I had the most _awesome_ mini cheesecakes made by my grandma yesterday—would you like the recipe?)

nomdeplume30: Definitely. And it's so very different writing Holmes at 19-20ish—when he's a kid, he's Sherlock, and there's a sort of distance between his child and adult selves. Not too great, but it's there. And writing him at this age, he's right in-between and, while he's thinking like an adult, his emotions still have to mature to that point… Even in STUD, I think, you still see some of that—he certainly doesn't fit the later-given "brain-without-a-heart" description (not that I think he ever really _did_… ^_^).

Moonspun Dragon: Me, too! Oh, there were _too_ many possibilities with fear—the final idea was an absolute Godsend. Thanks!

Spockologist: Thank you! *sighs* Oh, boy… Watson: *wary but curious, picks up oven mitts but doesn't hand them over* "Why?" Holmes: "I can think of several reasons, none of them good. And I have _not_ been corrupted, thank you very much."

insideouttuoedisni: I know, Mycroft's so awesome! I wouldn't trade any of my brothers for him, but I _would_ love to adopt him. I just can't help but see him as not only Sherlock's intellectual superior but also his protector. It's FUN to speculate why Holmes is the way he is. ^_^ Thank you very much!

reflekshun: Thank you! I love _writing_ Mycroft—I think I've gotten to know the man, and he can really be very sweet! He and I will talk over my latest culinary masterpiece (organic and healthy, I assure you), and he'll reminisce about his little brother and their younger years. ;-) It's fantastic!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==34. Fear==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _"Do try to relax, there's a good chap? You're more nervous than I, and __**I**__ am the father."_  
Warnings: mostly off-screen childbirth and accompanying issues  
Word Count: 817

I cracked the door open slightly, poked my head into the hall, and watched with amusement as my friend did his utmost to wear a hole into the carpet with his pacing. "Holmes?"

He started and spun around, his grey eyes wide. "Watson! What the devil is taking so long?"

I let out a tense chuckle. "These things take time, my dear Holmes. Patience."

"Hmph." He drew his cigarette case out of his pocket and lit a cigarette. Then, with the cigarette clenched firmly between his teeth, he shoved both hands into his pockets and stalked back and forth across the hall.

I flinched as I heard my wife release yet another strangled cry. Two hours already, and who knew how many more to go? Holmes shivered briefly, but did not pause in his strides.

"Nothing wrong?" I heard him ask, his back to me. "All as it should be?"

"Yes…" He cast a glance at me over his shoulder. "No, truly, old boy, it's progressing as a normal birth."

"John…" I turned back at my wife's moan to see her gazing pleadingly at me. Poor Eileen—would that I could spare her the pain of labour!

"One moment, dearest," I promised. She nodded and shut her eyes as another contraction came on. I turned back to Holmes through the crack in the door and said, "Do try to relax, there's a good chap? You're more nervous than I, and _I_ am the father."

He was very quiet for a minute, so quiet that I thought he would not reply. When he did, his voice was strangely husky, and his back was still turned to me. "My dear Watson, you always _were_ the stronger of the two of us. Go, return to your wife."

I would have been shocked at his praise had I not known _why_ he sounded as he did. The husky note was born of fear, and no Holmesian brains need apply to deduce the reason. My first wife, Mary, had had difficulty in bearing children. Several months after the events chronicled in "The Final Problem," she successfully gave birth to a son… but she had miscarried twice in the years previous.

And one child had been stillborn.

Holmes had been out on a case, returning to London just in time for the modest funeral. He had berated himself heavily for not being there when it happened.

"Holmes," I said quietly but resolutely, "history shall _not_ repeat itself today." Without waiting for a response, I backed into the bedroom and closed the door.

Five hours later, I reemerged to find Sherlock Holmes worn nearly to a frazzle. He jumped—literally _jumped_—at the creaking of the opening door and whipped around. "Wat…" He stared at the bundle in my arms.

I smiled warmly. "My dear fellow, I want to introduce you to someone."

He approached me with a definite sense of awe, and my smile widened. "Watson?" he breathed.

I shifted the bundle so that he could see it better. "Sherlock Holmes, meet Helen Watson." My heart felt ready to burst with joy.

There was a definite wonder in his eyes, and something in his face that I had never before seen and could not identify. His grey eyes met the baby's dark blue ones, and he smiled briefly. "She is _beautiful_, Watson," he whispered.

"She is her mother's daughter."

"Indeed." His eyes flashed up to meet mine. "How is Eileen?"

"She is well," I murmured. "Very well, indeed."

The lines in his face softened. "Thank God." I could see the ghosts easing out of his eyes with the knowledge that mother and child were well. Beneath that cold, scintillating intellect beat a warm, vibrant heart; and my joy was increased to glimpse at that heart now.

On an impulse, I shifted the baby further toward him. "Here. Hold her."

He stepped back, eyes wide. "Watson, are you daft? I've never held an _infant_ before!"

"I'll help you do it," I assured him. "Now, come." Helen's dark gaze rolled over to Holmes. "Do you see? She _wants_ you to hold her," I grinned.

"Don't be ridiculous, Doctor!"

"Holmes."

He glanced heavenward and resigned himself to his fate, stepping forward and holding out his arms. I shifted the baby into his embrace and helped him position his hands so that he held the child comfortably. I had seen too many people hold babies awkwardly on their first attempt, having no idea how to handle an infant properly.

Helen remained quiet in the embrace of her godfather, and I smiled again. "She trusts you," I said quietly. "Scoff if you wish, but babies _do_ know when they can trust a person."

Sherlock Holmes did not look up from the child in his arms, his face radiant. "Perhaps not yet… but she will know," he murmured. "She will know that I shall do anything to protect her."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

About a month ago, I was in agonies over one crucial point: Watson and his married life. Was there truly a second Mrs. Watson? I was coming to a point in my writing when I needed to resolve this issue in my personal canon once and for all. Now, I didn't even know till last fall that Mary Watson ever _existed_, and I'd always thought our boys in 221B eternally bachelor, eternally together. And when I started reading KCS about the same time that I was digging deeper into the Canon, I agreed with her stance on Watson being married only once. (It also appealed to my sense of romance, being devoted to one's spouse beyond the grave.)

What changed? Well, the past couple of months, I've been reading Aragonite. And the second Mrs. Watson is only ever mentioned in just _two_ of her stories, but she's there. Not only that, but my own story worked against me: _A Time to Heal_. Readers of that story may recall the scenes between Watson and little Aubrey Duran? The man is father material, no doubt about it. And I wanted so badly for him to have a family that _didn't_ die. (There was also the point of Kathleen Duran, a widowed mother, and the fact that she still retains the ability to love another man as deeply as she loved her first husband. Argh, great, now I've given you spoilers—YOU DID NOT READ THIS.)

_Ahem_. So, like I said, I was in agonies. I brought up the topic on Holmesian dot Net and asked for opinions. Got a little bit of brain-scarring in the process, but the thread _did_ help. This story, written while that thread was going, settled the matter.

Now that the history is over… I really, REALLY LOVE this install! As a second mother myself to half of my siblings… there's something special between me and babies. And writing this story was just… indescribably wonderful. I had more than a little bit of Steve Martin's _Father of the Bride Part II_ in my head as I wrote, as well as my own sense of anxiety waiting for the births and sense of awe (it never gets old) of meeting my baby brothers and sisters for the first time. Yes, babies' eyes really are dark blue when they're born, regardless of their color later in life—just ask _your_ parents!

Anyone who, like myself, has waited many hours for a baby to be born knows what poor Holmes was going through. I loved writing that—he was just such a darling. And when he held baby Helen~! That was when I _knew_ beyond a shadow of a doubt that… this was it. In that moment, there was a bond formed between Sherlock Holmes and Helen Watson, and I'm still looking to see how it plays out. You will indeed see more of Eileen and Helen, though—as with Cecile—you'll have to wait for the book. I'm seriously considering, however, writing a World War _II_ fic completely about Helen—we'll see how that goes. …Eesh, this has been one of my longest A/Ns ever!

Next Monday, "Swim"! Ohhh, this one is fun—you won't want to miss it, trust me! 'Tis another missing scene!

_**Please review!**_


	35. Swim

**Author's Note:**

Well, this is finally it—that story I mentioned on my blog that took place at Poldhu Bay. It started out on a Saturday evening after wracking my brains over the prompt all day, and then I didn't get a chance to finish it until the following Monday. By which time, I had invariably lost some steam on it. Even so, this is one of my favorites. Very visual… I just love it.

An-y-way… For anybody who was wondering or who wished me well, I did quite well on my solo last Friday. It was a miracle, considering that it was a strange church, about a hundred people I'd never seen before, and that I didn't even know _where_ I was supposed to stand to sing. (Fortunately, there was one special music before me, and I saw that all I had to do was stand behind the pulpit.) But that was one of my _worst_ cases of nerves EVER. Anyhow, I cracked on the last word of the first line, but picked up after that and sailed through enjoying my message and giving it my all. I got quite a bit of compliments and thanks afterwards, which was great. It's wonderful to know that your act of worship has touched someone's heart.

**Status: ONE HUNDRED COMPLETE. YES, THE PROMPTS TABLE IS FINISHED!**

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: Thank you very much! (Okey-doke, I'll get that recipe to you… just as soon as I type it up. ;D)

nomdeplume30: Thank you so much! Ha-ha, love that boyfriend scenario—eep, I'd _hate_ to be the poor guy she hooks up with! Interesting tidbit, though: Helen is born in 1900, so WWI takes up most of her teenage years. Meaning, Daddy is not _there_ for most of her teenage years—so guess who probably takes up keeping an eye her? ^_^ Anyway, thank you again!

newende90: Thank you very much! I'm so glad it meant so much to you!

Moonspun Dragon: YES, WE DO. Who wants to volunteer for a Mycroft C2? Thank you—it's one of my favorites, definitely. (Hmm, I was wondering when somebody was going to think of Kathleen in that light. …What if I told you "no"…?) Thank you!

Spockologist: Shall I _peel_ that goofy grin off your face for you? ^_^ Thank you! Well, as I said before, it was no easy decision for me—if it hadn't been for the whole father thing, I probably would indeed have let it be with Mary only. Hmm, I don't know; I'm not sure I've ever heard of that. Like I said above, Helen was born in 1900, so… *shrugs* Thanks again!

Joan Jett The Runaway: Thank you, and you're welcome!

insideouttuoedisni: Awww! *grins and hands you hankie* Thank you so much! And thanks also for the bit about new life so close to Easter—I must confess I never thought of that!

LeDragonQuiMangeDuPoisson: Thank you, and thanks for what you said about my second Mrs. Watson! Again, it was a toughie for me, and I almost let it go with just Mary—it was the whole family thing that really convinced me. And now that I've written several more fics involving Eileen Watson and her children, it's permanent—the Watson kids are taking a life all their own! Thank you again!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==35. Swim==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _He could admit to himself, if to no one else, that he felt much strengthened here. The sea air and the quiet loneliness of the place were a balm to body and soul._  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 915

**March 1897: Poldhu Bay, Cornwall**

Gentle waves lapped against the black stone, the tranquility of the water contrasting sharply with the harshness of the shore. A lone figure picked his way along the shoreline, clambering carefully up and down the stones. For a minute, he halted, stood straight, and gazed out across the bay.

_Watson would have a conniption_. One corner of his mouth pulled back, and grey eyes glinted with mischief. Such a taxation of one's strength would most certainly _not_ be what the doctor ordered, but he had never put much stock in doctors' orders.

Save for the order that had brought him here in the first place. The threat of permanent disqualification from work was a powerful one, indeed.

Here, on the untamed shores of Cornwall, his health was improving at last. He could admit to himself, if to no one else, that he felt much strengthened here. The sea air and the quiet loneliness of the place were a balm to body and soul; and he had found himself taking long, solitary walks on the moors adjoining the sea. It was neither the ancient monuments of stone nor the equally aged burial mounds alone that beckoned to him—the very air held a wild, clarion call to which his spirit eagerly responded, though he himself was at a loss as to explain why.

Today, in the sudden and unusual warmth, he had chosen to traverse the water's edge. His artist's eye drank in the stern, tragic beauty of the bay: the forbidding black cliffs, the white foam on the green-grey waves, the early sunlight glinting on the water. Countless lives had been lost on this perilous stretch of coastline—this bay was a graveyard.

_So much of my life… revolves around death…_ A squawking gull rudely interrupted his thoughts as it swept down just overhead. Ducking, he cursed the obnoxious thing and moved forward.

It was true. His life was entwined irrevocably and intimately with a force that he could only delay, and never truly defeat.

He was eight when death first touched his life: his French grandmother passed away. Ten years later, his best friend's father died of cardiac arrest, and he had been involved in that affair, if only in passing. Months later, an act of arson claimed the lives of his parents; and from then on, death was an ever-present companion. He skirted along its edge, outwitted it, refused its claim on others…

And it remained, casting its dark shadow over him.

Then came the light of another man to dispel the shadow. Fittingly, that man was both warrior and healer, holding the power to deal out death and keep it at bay.

Watson still had no conception of what he had done for Holmes when the doctor had come into the detective's life. John Watson had been the saving of Sherlock Holmes. Holmes owed his friend a debt that he could never repay.

Death lurked nearby still, but its darkness cowered in the face of Watson's radiance. Holmes had once called Watson a _conductor_ of light in regards to intellect; but, spiritually, Watson _was_ the light.

Sherlock Holmes smiled as he scrambled over another large boulder. And stopped short.

Not far off, tucked into the jagged rocks standing in the currently placid water was the wrecked bow of a wooden ship. The thing was old, certainly, greyed and decayed with age. Holmes's insatiable curiosity was piqued—in all his years of travel and investigation, he had never before seen the wreck of a sailing ship. He took his spyglass from his shoulder bag for a better look.

"Not much to see from here," he murmured. He glanced down at the water, then back at the wreck. Had Watson been present, he would have caught the look in his friend's eye, known the reason for it, and would have expressively forbidden Holmes from attempting his plan.

But Watson was up in the cottage, still asleep.

Holmes moved carefully down to the water's edge and reached out to test it. It was cool, certainly, but not unbearably so. He was a fast swimmer, and the wreck was not far. He would not catch a chill…

* * *

Watson was just laying out luncheon for one when Holmes burst into the cottage as if blown in by the wind. "Holmes!"

The normally pale detective was rosy-faced, breathless, and grinning from ear to ear. "Apologies for startling you, Watson," Holmes panted.

"Holmes, have you been _running_?"

"Quite. Delicious weather for it, all sunny, mild, and dry."

Watson glanced heavenward in exasperation. "My dear Holmes, if you have overexerted yourself and so undone the progress you have made in your recovery—"

"No worries about that, my boy," Holmes said cheerily, waving a dismissive hand as he hung up his coat and hat. "I believe I shall change before I eat." He left for his bedroom, and Watson shook his head.

The doctor frowned—there was a strange smell in the air. It was coming from… Holmes's overcoat? Watson picked up the coat and sniffed at it. Odd, it smelled faintly briny… His eyes widened in realization. Sherlock Holmes was not one to run for exercise or enjoyment—but running would dry off a man who had been in the water…

"Holmes!" he shouted, still clutching the coat. "Have you been _swimming?_"

The detective poked his head out of his door, a roguish look to his grin. "My dear fellow, whatever gave you _that_ idea?"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Just for the record, the day would indeed have to be mild for the water to be bearable—otherwise, Holmes probably _would_ have hurt his health again.

So, you know what story this is a missing scene from, right? Yes, it's "The Devil's Foot." ^_^

Ahhh, writing this was so lovely! When I started it, I pulled up the Granada episode and watched a few minutes to get a feel for the scenery and for Sherlock. I recall the first time I watched it, it was my first later episode and I was shocked at Jeremy Brett's aging. I knew about his illness already, but his appearance still surprised me. But there's this one moment when Watson says, "I suppose… death is always with us," and Holmes looks up at Watson rather sadly and says, "Indeed." He almost looks young again, and then he slowly walks off alone—I think it's a powerful moment.

Next up… OH! You will NOT want to miss this one! "Danger"! (Will Robinson, lol—does anybody get that joke?) Anyway, it's a continuation from a previous installment, and I'll only say that the prompt is rather… _subverted_… ;D

_**Please review!**_


	36. Danger

**Author's Note:**

MY LAPTOP IS BAAACK! I AM IN HEAVEN! …Those of you who've also read _A Study in Stardom _may recall that my laptop crashed back in January. IT IS FIXED NOW, AND ALL MY FILES ARE SAAAFE! You can read more about it and a certain new acquisition on my latest blog post. ;D

AS FAR AS THE BOOK GOES: I'm finished with the prompts, yes, and I'm editing now. I've been cruising through it, really, and I have to say right now that some of the shorter, earlier stories will not be expanded upon. I'm really sorry—I _thought_ I could do it, but it just didn't work out that way. That being said, if you're sharp when you're reading through the FFN stories in the book, you'll catch some extra sentences, changed wordings, etc. here and there. My beta reader has most of the stories right now (which means she's got about 30 more stories than'll ever be posted here xD), so hopefully, she can do some cruising, too. ALSO, I'm pleased to announce that there will indeed be illustrations, and that two of them are already finished (as well as the cover art)! Those two sketches illustrate "4. Late Nights" and "16. Embrace," and as soon as I'm done with my side of the editing, it'll be time to sketch more!

AS FAR AS MY NEXT PROJECT GOES: Check out my blog, www dot studysherlockiana dot blogspot dot com, for the posts "Deliver Us From Evil," "AMM and Deliver Us From Evil," and "Merged." It'll tell you all I have to say for the moment about my writing future!

**To my reviewers (I miss that status bar!):**

SabrinaPhynn: Yup. *grins* Holmes says his cottage "command[s] a great view of the Channel," so there's no bay in sight, at least. Thank you!

nomdeplume30: Thank you! You got it in one, the tone of the story. It wasn't even really me so much—it was more the characters taking control of the story and acting it out themselves. I _love_ it when that happens! Yeah, Watson at that point would probably be scaring just about anybody _except_ for Holmes. xD Speaking of Watson being scary, I think you are _really_ going to enjoy this install. ^_^ And yes, that's the quote! I've never seen _Lost in Space_ myself, but my parents have, and my dad used to say it a lot when I was younger. Thanks again!

Moonspun Dragon: Yeah, I know. -_- Aw, thanks! (*whistles innocently* _Your_ words, not mine. ;D) Thank you!

Spockologist: Thank you very much! *points to A/N to answer question*

reflekshun: Thank you! (Ha-ha, very funny. =D)

insideouttuoedisni: Thank you! *giggles* Welp, just read the blog posts mentioned, and that should answer your questions! =) Ha-ha, glad you finished that review! ;D DEVI is one of my favorites, too, and I hate that one of the best parts—Holmes healing—is the part that Watson largely skims over with just a couple of paragraphs. Yeah, I'd volunteer to have Watson's job—or a slightly different, more romantic role. xDDD …Don't mind me, I've just been crushing on Holmes for a little while now. Anyway, thank you very much!

O'FoggageGreen: Hey, don't sweat it—your excuses about reviews can't be any worse than mine. ;D Thank you very much!

LeDragonQuiMangeDuPoisson: Awww, thank you very much—your review made me all warm and fuzzy inside!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==36. Danger==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _When Watson's temper flared, the results could be spectacular. Sherlock Holmes was __**painfully**__ aware of this fact._  
Warnings: pure, unadulterated comedy  
Word Count: 1298

_Continued from 20. Die…_

John Hamish Watson, despite his London upbringing and refined accent, was a full-blooded Scotsman. His heritage manifested itself most visibly in his temper, quick and hot. Fortunately for those who knew him, such manifestations were few and far between.

Unfortunately, when said temper _did_ flare, the results could be spectacular.

Sherlock Holmes was _painfully_ aware of this fact.

Hence his mad dash into the house (nearly bowling over a bewildered landlady in the process) and up the stairs to his bedroom. The door slammed shut with enough force to rattle the gas jets, and Mrs. Hudson heard the distinct sound of a door being locked.

And that sound being repeated.

She did not have time to dwell on this, however, for her other tenant burst into the house, mumbled "Pardon me," and tore up the stairs with a murderous look. The longsuffering woman sighed, shook her head, and returned to the kitchen. Mr. Holmes had obviously upset the Doctor again.

Upstairs, Watson was banging mightily on Holmes's bedroom door. "You can't stay in there forever!" he bellowed.

"Actually, Doctor, I could quite easily accomplish that trick by committing suicide," came the dry and slightly nervous retort. Watson heard thumps that sounded like furniture being moved to block both doors to the bedroom.

He scowled. "Sherlock Holmes, I demand that you come out of there and face your punishment!"

"My dear Watson, I sincerely apologize!" the voice from the bedroom pleaded. "I had no idea you would be so affected!"

"Affected? I'll _show_ you _affected_!"

"What on earth?" came Mrs. Hudson's voice from below. A dozen young voices chimed in all at once in an unintelligible chorus.

Watson growled and stalked back downstairs, not wanting his landlady to have to deal with the Irregulars. "'Tention!" he called sternly. The boys immediately snapped into formation—at least Holmes had drilled them well… "Outside. _All_ of you." The Irregulars obediently filed out of the house and onto the sidewalk, Watson following them and folding his arms. "Now, what is the meaning of this?"

Wiggins stepped forward, wringing his cap. The lieutenant of the Baker Street Irregulars was eighteen now, Watson recalled, and much more of a man than a boy. "Well, Doctor, me 'n' the lads was talkin' it over, an' we're right sorry we made yew angry." He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "We was just playin' with Mr. 'Olmes, y'see, an' I 'spect none of us thought as 'ow yew'd take it th' wrong way."

Of course, to them it was all play—and even to Holmes. Watson suspected that his flatmate had briefly forgotten the wounded shoulder, especially in the calm summer weather that week. Watson sighed and rubbed at his temples. "I see. I'm afraid I let my temper get the better of me, lads. I am not angry with you, truly."

"Wha' about Mr. 'Olmes?" piped the youngest—Freddie, if memory served.

Watson's lips compressed briefly. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "You boys could have hurt my shoulder, even if you were being careful. And the omniscient Sherlock Holmes seemed to have let that little detail slip his mind."

Wiggins winced. "I don't think _any_ of us thought-a that."

Watson nodded wearily. "Well, you chaps best be off. It's suppertime, and—" He stopped as the door opened and shut behind him.

"Pardon me, sir," mumbled a woman in her sixties as she made her way past the group.

"Good evening, madam," Watson called courteously as she left. "Now, as I was saying…" He stopped again. Mrs. Hudson had not received any callers while Watson had been home, and she did not seem to have had any when he had been raging at Holmes. That could only mean…

He jerked back around to see the woman a short distance off but walking perhaps a bit quicker… He compressed his lips again and turned to the Irregulars. "Boys?" he said conspiratorially. "How would you like to help me get even with Mr. Holmes?"

"Blimey, Doc, how?" asked little Freddie.

Watson looked back in the direction of the woman, and Wiggins followed his gaze. The young man grinned roguishly. "I get yew, Doctor," he nodded sharply. "Lads, after that woman!"

The boys shot off, Watson keeping in the lead with Wiggins. Their quarry had seen them and was running now, far quicker than a sixty-year-old woman should be able to run.

Quicker, in fact, than _most people_ **could** run.

"Bloody… Doctor, we're never goin' ta catch 'im!" Wiggins cried. "'e's too fast fer us!"

"That skirt will get in his way!" Watson replied. "Just keep after him!"

The skirt _did_ get in Holmes's way. Ahead, Watson could see the detective stumble and nearly fall thanks to the skirt, and Holmes lost precious moments in shaking off the impeding garment. Then he was off again, and tearing off his feminine hat, shawl, and blouse as he went. The movements slowed him down, allowing Watson and the Irregulars to gain on him.

Amusingly, Holmes was in his shirtsleeves now—Watson had _never_ before seen him out-of-doors without a suit coat on.

It was a right merry chase, for Holmes did not hold a straight course on Baker Street. Rather, he weaved this way and that from one street to the next, and Watson would have lost him had not Wiggins also been on the hunt. The young man likely knew London just about as well as his employer did.

Things came to a sudden halt when Holmes, in glancing over his shoulder at his pursuers, bowled someone over. The hunters caught up with their quarry as Holmes was disentangling himself from the victim and apologizing profusely.

"Mr. Holmes!" cried an indignant voice, and Watson's eyes went round. He knew that voice _very_ well.

"Inspector Lestrade, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies," Holmes said, his face red with embarrassment.

"What the devil are you about, Mr. Holmes?" The small Yarder shot to his feet. "Is some dreadful murderer chasing you?"

"In a manner of speaking," Holmes mumbled, lifting a hand to point an accusing finger at his persecutors.

Watson scowled. "Oh, no, Holmes, you shan't pin the blame for this on us."

Lestrade turned at his voice. "Dr. Watson!" He took in the dozen street Arabs surrounding the army veteran, and his lips thinned. "And the Baker Street Irregulars, I see." Lifting one eyebrow, he turned to the amateur detective with a pronounced look of annoyance, folding his arms and tapping his foot. "I trust you have a good explanation for this, Mr. Holmes?"

Watson distantly noted that they seemed to have arrived at a crime scene, as there were three constables milling about the nearby house. Returning his attention to his flatmate, he saw Holmes put on the most chagrined look he had ever seen. "It, ah, was a rather… trivial… matter of justice," he said slowly.

"Yes, and we shan't bore you with the details, Lestrade," said Watson, taking charge of the situation. "Our apologies for accidentally involving you. Come, boys—and that includes _you_, Holmes—let's go home."

As they walked away, Holmes did not meet Watson's gaze, keeping his grey eyes on the ground. "Thank you, Watson."

"I wasn't about to let you suffer any more embarrassment than you had to, despite how richly you deserve it."

"I freely admit I was not thinking about your shoulder, dear fellow," Holmes said quietly. "For that, I truly and deeply apologize."

Watson exhaled explosively. "You were caught up in your fun—I should not have reacted so violently. I apologize for that."

"Shall we call it even then?" The younger man shot a brief, hopeful look at his companion.

Watson could not repress a smile. "Yes, I believe we shall."

They walked arm-in-arm the rest of the way.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Cookies to anyone that caught the Canon quote. (Ha-ha, alliteration.) And this is Lestrade's first credited appearance (first true one was "19. Rescue")—yay for him! Btw, for anyone that read "Unraveling the Truth," _this_ is the incident Lestrade and Watson were fondly remembering.

…Pfffft, I _LOVED_ WRITING THIS ONE! I think this is probably the most comedic story I've ever written! And can't you just _see_ it, too? Like, umm, Disney's/70s' music to the "chase sequence"? (Think _Candleshoe_ or cartoon _Robin Hood_.) ROFL

Three words: Watson. Is. Awesome. We always knew he had it in him to go after Holmes like that, didn't we? *sniggers*

Little Freddie is indeed a tribute to Jeremy Brett—Freddie Eynsford-Hill, _My Fair Lady_. I also enjoyed writing Wiggins, who is most _definitely_ a young man. …A problem I have with some otherwise-wonderful fics is that they make Wiggins out to be the stereotypical "eternally young" kid—you know, like some multi-season shows do with their young characters. In other words, Wiggins is still a child or a young teen during, say, FINA or EMPT. But if Wiggins was just 10 in 1881 (STUD), he would have been 20 in 1891 (FINA). I make him out to be 12 in '81, and this story takes place in '87, before the Jezail in Watson's leg. (Makes a chase after 6'2", infinitely-energetic _Sherlock Holmes_ a little difficult, having an exploded bullet in your thigh.)

Finally, Watson's line "Come, boys—and that includes _you_, Holmes—let's go home" was inspired by Hanna-Barbera's 60s' cartoon _Top Cat_, a smooth-talking New York alley-cat. In one episode, he walks away from two men—one of whom is his sort-of nemesis, Police Officer Dibble—and says, "So long, gentlemen. You, too, Dibble." It's not really even an adaptation, because the two lines mean different things—one is implying that one person _is_, and the other that one person _isn't_. But that's really the story behind that line. xDDD

Next Friday… *sighs* we have to end the week on a rather melancholy note, I'm afraid. The prompt is "Cemetery." EMPT missing scene.

_**Please review!**_


	37. Cemetery

**Author's Note:**

Wo-ow, that last instalment was popular! One thing I forgot to mention last time is that there will be a companion piece to the two Irregulars stories near the end of the book. I was almost finished, and I realized that most of these later stories were serious and/or angsty, and I wanted to do one more humor piece. So I ended up subverting another prompt. ^_^

Last night, my beta sent back the first ten stories, all edited. I'm very excited! Plus, I'm rather going to town with my illustrations, but I think you'll like them. There's one in which Holmes and Watson look more than a little bit like Jeremy and David *cheers*, and another one in which Holmes looks _very_ Jeremy-ish.

Last but not least, I know yesterday I was supposed to update you guys on AMM on the blog. Well, I came down with a cold (yes, AGAIN—I had only just gotten over the last one), and I was chilled, trembling, achy, and completely miserable. (My hands, for some reason, still hurt like the dickens—not good. You're pretty lucky to still be getting this chapter today. D= ) The only truly productive thing I did with my day was the illustrations. I'd still like to do an AMM update, but I'm not sure when that'll be. Just keep an eye out on the blog.

**To my reviewers:**

nomdeplume30: *Cheshire grin* Thank you! Watson's "I'll show you affected!" was one of my favorite lines; and Holmes moving furniture and pointing to Watson and the boys as dreadful murderers were more favorite bits. Hey, I don't mind reviews that tell my story back to me—really! Your long review was a perfect start to my day—I'm so glad you loved it so much!

Moonspun Dragon: Yup, that's the quote. We'll just say everybody gets cookies, though. ;D (I neither confirm nor deny, dear girl. *dignified look*) I can _definitely_ see Jeremy and David doing this, especially since David is so good at doing ticked-off!Watson. =D Thank you!

Kadigan: "Lethal levels," lol! There are indeed few things cuter than Sherlockian domesticity. And yep, that's the quote. Thank you!

Spockologist: Well, Jeremy!Holmes never went _out_ without a suit coat, except for DEVI, when he's throwing away the lamp. There are numerous times, actually, when he's either in his shirtsleeves or in his dressing gowns (and therefore not in a suit coat). I think forgiveness is a big part of Watson's nature—I don't think he was ever the type to hold grudges. Thank you!

SabrinaPhynn: Ohhh, because Wiggins is in your fic, and… heh. I'd go with a little brother, personally. ;D Anyway, I'm sure Mycoft, Sherlock, and the Doctor will appreciate those cookies! Thank you!

O'FoggageGreen: Being part Scotch-Irish myself, I couldn't pass up making Watson fully Scottish—and I love the idea of his name being Hamish. (Thank you, Dorothy Sayers!) Yuuup, dat's da quote. ^_^ Thank you!

insideouttuoedisni: Well, I'd imagine you couldn't fit a suit coat on underneath feminine clothes, unless they're loose; so Holmes does have an excuse. =) And yeees, 'tis the quote. Thank you!

medcat: *grins* Thank you! I did love that line. *blushes* Thanks again!

LeDragonQuiMangeDuPoisson: You didn't know that? Yeah, actually, MFL was the first film I ever saw Jeremy in—I didn't know till _nine_ _years_ after the first time I watched the movie that he also played Sherlock Holmes. =) Anyway, thank you!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==37. Cemetery==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _"__Mary, dear, you were one of the purest people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. It is no wonder Wa—__**John**__—loves you as much as he does.__"_  
Warnings: graveyard angst  
Word Count: 549

"Hello, Mary. I apologise for not having visited sooner, but I was unavoidably delayed. Events have moved with dizzying speed since I first received word of your death—if only Mycroft's telegrams had not been lost! I might have been here months sooner and so spared your husband some of his pain… or shared it, at least.

"I was caught up in a murder investigation, dear Mary—yes, I know, I am incorrigible. But the murderer was none other than the man who was hunting me all these years! He is now safely behind bars, and I am free to live my life once more…

"Dear God, how can I _say_ that? How can I even _think_ it? How can it be that I live on while you and your son… Mary, dear, you were one of the purest people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. It is no wonder Wa—_John_—loves you as much as he does. You deserved every happiness in life—where is the justice in that life being cruelly ripped away from you? You and your child? I would gladly have traded places with both of you. John needs you more than he needs me."

Saltwater dots the small, modest tombstone.

"You were as a sister to me, Mary. I did not deserve your friendship—not after my initial callous and petty reactions to your marriage. But you gave me your friendship, anyway, for your heart was great and your love was strong. You and John were perfectly suited to each other in every way, flawless soul mates. I had never seen such a marriage before, nor have I since.

"I wish I could have had more time to know you better—two and a half years is far too short. I wish I could have met your dear boy. I am quite certain he is a lovely blend of his mother and father, and that you are proud of him. I want to know more about him, but the grief is still far too near for John to speak of him. I cannot ask him. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

"I look forward, however, to meeting Arthur Sherlock someday. I wonder what he thinks of being named, in part, after me. For my part, I am deeply flattered. I had always a feeling that you and John would do it, if you ever had a son, and I understand why my name is middle rather than first. It would have been much too hard on John.

"Well, I… had best be off. John will likely be wanting me, soon. He is doing better, you know. He's getting his colour back, and I daresay Mrs. Hudson and I can contrive to put a pound or two back on him. And I swear to you, I will take care of him as best I can. …But… before I go, Mary, well…

"Would you please… find my parents… and give them my love? I'd be much obliged."

The detective, true to his brusque nature, hurries out of the cemetery. A single red rose rests serenely on the little tombstone.

_Mary Morstan Watson_

_Beloved Wife and Mother_

_May 14, 1861—November 2, 1893_

_Arthur Sherlock Watson_

_Beloved Son_

_December 3, 1891—November 2, 1893_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

*passes tissues around* Yeah, missing scene from EMPT, or perhaps "epilogue" is better. I should note right now that I'm not the first to do this scene—KCS beat me to it. But it's been a long time since I've read that story, and I wanted to do my own version—and I didn't want to do anything else for the prompt. =)

Permit me to quote myself from "17. Silent": _For the record, I don't hold to the idea that Holmes detested/envied Mary Watson, or that he was a wreck for a long time after the wedding. A __short__ time, like just a few days… now __that__, I can believe. I stand with KCS and Aragonite—Sherlock and Mary had a good relationship_.

Since Watson and Holmes were already like brothers, it's not inconceivable that Mary would have grown to be something of a sister to Holmes. In fact, one of the last five stories in the book fleshes that out a little bit, in a scene from the Watsons' wedding day.

As a side note, a hearty congratulations to Prince William and Kate Middleton! I didn't watch the wedding (didn't even know when it would start) live, but I've read some of those Yahoo! articles… American I may be, but I am very happy for them. (Have you seen Kate's wedding gown? Ohhh, it was _gorgeous_!)

Next Monday… "Honour." Short but sweet. ;-)

_**Please review!**_


	38. Honour

**Author's Note:**

I hate being sick, _I hate being sick,_ I HATE BEING SICK! …Sorry, but it's about to drive me nuts!

In other news, I've started on the official book file that will be eventually converted into the proper format for Kindle… Don't get excited—I still have a long way to go. Anyway, I'm doing a foreword right now…

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: Thanks, hon—me, too. Weeell, you'll have to wait for the book for the drawings, but I really can't wait for you to see them, either! (*rubs aching head and sighs* Remind me to PM you, 'kay?) Thank you!

nomdeplume30: Thank you!

SabrinaPhynn: (About Mary and Holmes) Egg-zactly! …Awww, poor Jenn, having to rush home like that… *pats back*

Spockologist: Thank you!

Joan Jett The Runaway: Aw, thank you very much!

LeDragonQuiMangeDuPoisson: You're welcome. =)

fayfayzee: Thank you very much!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==38. Honour==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _"Cheer up, old boy. I know you obligated to defend my honour, but trust me when I say that I can do it well enough on my own."_  
Warnings: Holmes!irritation  
Word Count: 273

"Well, Lestrade, another feather in your cap," Sherlock Holmes declared in a singsong manner. He nodded once to the inspector, and once to the arrested criminal. "As to you, my dear Farnsworth, I congratulate you on the ingenuity with which you have conducted your forgery—it was marvellously handled."

The arrested forger was furious. "You insufferable amateur!" Farnsworth raged. "You're no more than an amateur with a devilish amount of luck!"

Holmes smirked slightly. "Yes, I suppose it is less injurious to one's ego to believe that he has been bested by luck rather than by skill."

"You're one to speak of ego! Any sane person would reject you for the vain peacock you are, you and that grovelling little quack of a doctor!"

Watson's eyes widened, though not in irritation. Lestrade's eyes darted apprehensively toward the private consulting detective. Holmes's eyes narrowed as his face darkened.

"You are fortunate, sir," he ground out, all traces of levity gone, "that you are under official detention, and therefore untouchable. Had you spoken those words before your arrest, they would not have been beneficial to your health."

As detective and doctor returned home in a cab, Watson patted Holmes's arm. "Cheer up, old boy. I know you obligated to defend my honour, but trust me when I say that I can do it well enough on my own."

Holmes flashed his friend a brief smile. "And well I know it, my dear fellow. But I suffer no slight upon your honour gladly."

"And well I know it," Watson said with the air of a tried saint, eliciting a brief laugh from a no-longer brooding detective.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

…And if you've seen Granada, you _definitely_ know what I mean by "singsong." ^_^

And we _all_ know that _anybody_ who insults Doctor Dearest is dead meat. xDDD

Next Wednesday… ah, yes, "Love." *whistles innocently* …Nah, it's Canon-compatible, really—in an artistic-license sort of way. ;D Okay, okay, it's not blatantly AU, we'll put it that way. …Just come back next time and find out!

_**Please review!**_


	39. Love

**Author's Note:**

When you're sick and you're rushing to prep a chapter for posting, you _always_ forget _something_. *sighs* In this case, I forgot last time to announce that I have a new fic up, "Counting My Blessings." It's a possible scene from my future novel _Merged_—just a nighttime slice-of-life with two private consulting detectives from two different eras. ;-)

Also, anybody recall _A Time to Heal_? Y'know, my very first SH fic that happens to be a wannabe-epic and hasn't been updated since January? With that Kathleen person who's coming back in _Merged_ as being younger and more hotshot? Yeah, that story. Anyway, I actually, actually restarted the next chapter yesterday. *cue cheers* It's not like I haven't missed it—I have. It's figuring out what happened next that had me—but now I think I've got it. And I'll even give you a little spoiler: this time, the chapter is starting from the POV of one Christy Duran. ^_^

I've also drawn some more illustrations, and my beta's handed me back the second batch of ten. Here's lookin' at teenelizabeth—folks, she's really, _really_ wonderful to be doing this for me, with life being very busy for her right now.

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: (Lestrade: *world-weary sigh* "Just _one_." Holmes: "WHAT? _She_ can, and I _can't_? Where is the _justice_ in the world?" Watson: "Holmes, let's go home. Now.") xD Thanks!

nomdeplume30: "The dynamic of their mutual protectiveness"… ah yes, I seem to recall reading a fair bit of that in a certain Granada fic… so much so that the _actors_ were getting into the act! ;D It really _is_ sweet. Weeell, I think Lestrade would have been torn between cheering and groaning—you really aren't supposed to beat up an arrested man, after all. But, um, I can guarantee a story late in the upcoming book in which Holmes does a LOT more than a little punch in the nose, because of what's happened to Watson. It was deliciously satisfying to write. …"You can say whatever you want about me, but I'm gonna have to ask you not to insult my Doctor." (_Hidalgo_, adapted—lol)

Moonspun Dragon: *hugs back* Thanks, hon—I do need it. I'm doing better now, but… I'll just say my life just got _really_ crazy all of a sudden. And lol about the insulting bit—absolutely! Thank you!

Spockologist: Z motion? Nope, nobody! Thanks, sweetie—I am, now.

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==39. Love==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _He expected asking for Agatha's forgiveness, in the aftermath of Milverton's death, to be one of the hardest things he would ever do. He was not wrong._  
Warnings: sad, sweet romantic fluff  
Word Count: 318

At a young age, he had learned to detach himself from things, to maintain a cool, aloof exterior that shielded him from the hurt of the world around him. His deeper emotions found their vent in the strains of his Stradivarius, seldom seeing the light of day in any other form.

Escott was different. Jeremy Escott was lighthearted and vivacious, unguarded in his emotions. Into his plumber persona, Sherlock Holmes poured what he thought he might have been like had his life turned out a little differently. Had his boyhood not ended so abruptly in a deliberate fire that had claimed the lives of both his parents.

It was more than slightly unnerving—and simultaneously rather cathartic—being this openly emotional.

Agatha Peters, housemaid to Charles Augustus Milverton, found a kindred spirit in her master's new plumber: Jem shared her love of life and her cheery disdain of the upper class, among other things. Falling in love with him was all too easy.

_Returning_ that love… Sherlock had not expected _that_ to be just as easy. He had not expected to be able to ask her to marry him—he had not even originally meant to do so.

He did, however, expect asking for her forgiveness, in the aftermath of Milverton's death, to be one of the hardest things he would ever do. He was not wrong.

What astounded him was that she loved him enough to forgive him, loved him enough to _release_ him. And she did not realize that as he walked away with her heart, she kept a piece of his.

She gave him a small locket she had previously always worn to remember her by. The locket eventually found itself resting reverently beside a certain photo "of dubious and questionable memory"—one item honoring the woman who had triumphed over his intellect, and the other honoring the woman who had triumphed over his heart.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Okay, it's still canon-compatible—we really don't know Holmes's true sentiments regarding Agatha. It's not implausible that a nice, smart girl that Holmes had to woo anyway… it's not implausible that he accidentally loved her back. And yes, I'm something of a Holmes/Aggie fan. I just think it's cute.

Anybody remember that time that I said I whipped out 6 stories in one day? Well, this story was one of them—I had the idea in my head, and I actually skipped faaar ahead in the prompts table to grab a prompt that would fit.

Also, I'm sure you guys noticed the name I gave Holmes's Escott. I also gave him the nickname "Jem" so as not to be so _totally_ blatant about the tribute to Jeremy Brett. Here's a harder one, though: did anybody catch the _other_ tribute to Jeremy? Yes, no? All right, here it is: Agatha _Peters_. How many here know Jeremy's real name? Well, it's _Peter_ Huggins. (He… looked like a Peter. I think. *shrugs*)

Next Friday… oh, fun! "Cold." ^_^ Anybody remember "Their First Christmas"? Well, next install's going to be a companion fic to that, from the POV a certain abused detective…

_**PLEASE review!**_


	40. Cold

**Author's Note:**

Thank. God. For. Coffee. With my days as crazy as they are lately—and my getting to bed late—coffee is a beeyootiful way to start the day.

Anyway… So last night, my mom and I were watching her very first Granada episode in full. …Only for me to discover that the second part of the episode was a _defective video_. Argh. Better luck tonight, hopefully.

And, um, I don't mean to whine about this—truly, I don't—but… Is everybody busy with their finals or something? 'Cause, I mean, Monday's install had only _four_ reviews, and Wednesday's _three_… and on average, I get _six_… at the least. …Sorry, I'm spoiled. Really. And I do miss you guys. Anyway, for those of you out there that are very busy right now, I sincerely hope… ha-ha, allow me to quote _The Parent Trap_ remake: "May your life be far less complicated than mine." ;D

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: Lol. Thank you! The name "Brett" keeps popping up? Huh. (I have an original character in my fantasy novel whose first name is _Bret_. ;D )

Moonspun Dragon: *giggles* Thank you—and yeah, you said it. Ah, it's okay—we won't hold it against you. ;D Thank you!

Spockologist: Thank you! (And, no, I have not!)

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==40. Cold==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _The bedclothes were yanked back once more, but this time— "ARGH!" —something wet and __**shockingly**__ cold plopped onto his head._  
Warnings: more pure, unadulterated comedy.  
Word Count: 605

The first thing he was aware of was a strong hand shaking his shoulder. He did not bolt upright in alarm, however, for the familiar voice accompanying the hand. "Holmes, wake up!"

He buried his head into his pillow with a muffled moan. Why couldn't the nuisance let him sleep?

"Holmes," the nuisance continued, "come now, old boy—it's _Christmas!_"

He groaned. "Waaatson, go back to beeed!"

He heard the childish grin in his confounded flatmate's voice. "Can't do that!" the man all but _chirped_. _English gentlemen do __**not**__ chirp_. "I woke up at six, couldn't go back to sleep, and waited till half past seven to come down and wake you up."

_He did WHA_— Sherlock Holmes flung back the bedclothes in shock, eyes wide. "Do you mean to tell me that you woke up at _six in the morning of your own freewill?_"

John Nuisance Watson nodded happily. _**No**__ man has a right to look __**that**__ cheerful at half past seven_. Then again, this _would_ be Watson's first proper Christmas since before he joined the army, and the man _had_ been immaturely excited about it all month…

"Oh, for the love of heaven…" Holmes groaned again, promptly disappearing back beneath his bedclothes where it was warm and comfortable. _Deucedly cold outside of them_.

He heard his colleague sigh. "Holmes, do come on. It's _Christmas_."

"Another excuse for waking a man early every twenty-fifth of December," Holmes shot back.

"Dickens," Watson said dryly. "I'm impressed."

Then the confounded blighter actually _yanked off the bedclothes_. Holmes instinctively tightened up into a ball and buried his face again into his pillow.

The tactic seemed to work. He heard Watson's retreating footsteps, so he quickly pulled the bedclothes back over his head. He sighed in satisfaction, enjoying the return of warmth, silence, and solitude.

For all of five seconds.

The bedclothes were yanked back once more, but this time—

"ARGH!"

—something wet and _shockingly_ cold plopped onto his head.

Holmes sat bolt upright as he yelped, and saw that his evil flatmate was already backing away for the door. "WATSON!"

"MerryChristmasmydearfellow," the villain said in a rush, ducking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Outraged, Holmes leapt out of bed and hurried to don his clothes. Watson had declared war with that singular act of betrayal, and _dashed_ if Holmes wouldn't rise to the challenge. As he was buttoning up his waistcoat, he heard feet pounding up the stairs halfway and the shout: "I'll be outside if you want to take revenge!" Then the feet pounded back down the steps—two at a time—and the front door banged open and slammed shut.

Watson was taking the war to a different terrain? _Excellent_. Holmes would not dare to deface the sitting room again so soon after that little difficulty with the chemistry set. _Honestly, our formidable landlady __**must**__ have Celtic blood in her __**somewhere**_…

Holmes made sure to bundle up well, grinning deviously all the while at the thought of catching his flatmate unawares. _Revenge is indeed a dish best served cold. __**Icy**__ cold_.

Shoving Watson into a snow bank and holding him there was quite satisfying. _Not_ so satisfying, however, was when the blackguard _tricked_ him and _pounded him in the chest with a __**very**__ large snowball!_

The bobby on patrol that Christmas morning must have thought the two toffs lobbing snowballs at each other quite mad, indeed. The toffs in question could not have cared less, cheerfully hurling insults back and forth alongside snowballs and laughing all the while.

Mrs. Hudson summed it up best: "Honestly, those two. Just like boys."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

*doubles over* I LOVED doing that! Writing this scene all from Holmes's POV was terrific, and I love how he keeps calling Watson names in his head!

Oh, btw, the book is coming along—my beta may well be half-way done tomorrow! *cheers*

Next Monday… "Time." This one is truly lovely, if I may say so myself.

_**Please review!**_


	41. Time

**Author's Note:**

Normally, when I miss a day to update, I apologize. However, I won't do that this time, as it was MOST DEFINITELY NOT MY FAULT. DOCUMENT MANAGER WOULD NOT LET ME UPLOAD THIS CHAPTER. I tried just about every half-hour yesterday, and it never worked! So, this is going to alter my schedule this week—for this week ONLY, I'll be uploading my next two installments on Thursday and Saturday, to keep with the every-other-day pattern.

…Memorandum to body clock: PLEASE stop waking me up so late! Especially when I have an installment to upload! …Okay, so Sunday was crazy, but I still got to bed before eleven. Gah, this sleeping-in thing is about to drive me nuts!

Now, as for the last chapter, I feel silly for not stating this clearly before: "40. Cold" is based off of the fic "Their First Christmas," which is up on my profile. I'm guessing most of you haven't read it—I uploaded it last Christmas Eve. Methinks you just might want to read it to know the fluffy, totally Christmas ending.

Also, I FINALLY HAVE MY FIRST _SHERLOCK_ FIC UP! You can find it on my profile: "Jupiter's Retribution." Please R&R, those of you that like the show!

**To my reviewers (new record, folks—11 for one chapter!):**

Moonspun Dragon: *grins* Actually, that was SNOW Watson dumped on Holmes. xDDD Argh, yeah, I do still need to PM you—I'll try to do that today. Thank you!

Spockologist: Watson strikes me as the type of person who's just a big kid at Christmas. *grins* Thank you!

medcat: *grins* Thanks!

teenelizabeth: Lol! Eugh, I hate this season, then. xD *hugs back*

Joan Jett The Runaway: Aww, thanks for telling me that about you and your friend! =D Thank you so much for the sweetness, darlin'! *hugs*

SabrinaPhynn: Thank you!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Aww, it's okay—I'm glad you're back, though, 'cause I missed you! =) Good for you, and thank you!

insideouttuoedisni: Thank you! Heh, I wondered if anybody was going to tell me they didn't like the Holmes/Aggie story—I do realize that the fans out there that, like me, enjoy Holmes/girl comprises probably less than half the fandom. I could argue (have, actually) that Holmes was actually quite capable of loving a woman—he just (a) never found the right one and/or (b) willingly chose not to entangle himself in romance. Both of which are entirely plausible. =) And, heh, I'm afraid there's one more Holmes/Aggie story later on in the book—hopefully, you can endure it. *weak grin* Thanks again!

O'FoggageGreen: Aww, naughty computer—steals my reviews! ;D Hey, if it's your computer's fault, it's not your fault. ^_^ Thank you!

LeDragonQuiMangeDuPoisson: Actually, it does make sense—sounds like me at different times. =) Thank you!

reflekshun: Thank you! (And yes, I'm doing much better now—I just have a lingering cough, basically.)

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==41. Time==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _At the age of nineteen, he lost his parents and home, and subsequently became the world's first private consulting detective._  
Warnings: mentions of drug usage  
Word Count: 790

At the age of nineteen, he lost his parents and home, and subsequently became the world's first private consulting detective.

At the age of twenty, he was first called in by Scotland Yard to aid them in a baffling case.

At the age of twenty-three, he met an army veteran and took up lodgings with him.

At the age of twenty-five, he realised that the thought of his flatmate accompanying him into danger frightened him—and for all his great mental powers, he could not ascertain _why_.

At the age of twenty-nine, he first heard of the man who would become his greatest foe. He also spent a miserable October out on the moor, investigating a case that would become one of the most famous mystery novels of all time.

At the age of thirty, he received a shock that rattled him to his very core when his flatmate received a bullet to the leg. Several months later, he realised that he would lose that flatmate to an intelligent, beautiful woman, and that realization terrified him further.

At the age of thirty-one, he learned how to share a friend, and how to adapt to having a woman in his inner circle who was rather like a sister, for all practical intents and purposes. During this time, he was bested by another intelligent, beautiful woman, whose memory he honoured till the day he died.

At the age of thirty-two, he contracted a deadly illness, survived it, and deceived his friend as to the particulars. He assuaged his conscience by telling it that Watson needn't know, after the fact, that he really _had_ been ill.

At the age of thirty-three, his work against his great opponent came to a head, and he fled to the Continent, pursued all the way to a Swiss waterfall. Every victory has its cost: he rid the world of an evil man, but he was doomed to wander the earth for three years, haunted by the calls of a beloved voice.

At the age of thirty-six, he returned home to find his dearest friend in deep mourning. The wounds ran deep, but at last the healing could begin.

At the age of thirty-nine, his health nearly broke down under the strain of work and cocaine usage. An even more lethal drug would have destroyed his sanity, had it not been for the strength of his best friend.

At the age of forty, he faced off against a dangerous blackmailer, and in working to bring him down, accidentally fell in love with a woman strong in spirit. The relationship never culminated, but he left a piece of his heart with her. Only three months later, he freed himself from the cocaine forever.

At the age of forty-one, he found himself alone yet again in his lodgings, but he could not begrudge his Boswell his new family.

At the age of forty-two, he became an honorary uncle to an angel of a child; in some ways, he was as much her father as Watson was.

At the age of forty-five, yet another bullet to his friend made him realise that they were both slowing down, and the rest of the world speeding up around them. That realization took him out of London and to a cottage on the Sussex Downs, seeking solitude from the frenetic pace of the new century.

At the age of fifty-four, he was pulled back into the harness and into the service of his country. He spent over a year abroad, this time under the guise of an American Irishman rather than a Norwegian. His work was to undermine a spy-net, giving his country an advantage in a looming war.

At the age of fifty-six, he saw the world gradually fall apart, piece by piece, until all the earth seemed caught up in the madness of a war the likes of which had never before been seen. He realised that it was inevitable, and no amount of titanic effort on his part could have stopped it. The realization availed him little as he watched his closest friend leave on a train full of soldiers, departing for a bloody struggle on the Continent.

At the age of sixty, he saw the trenches first hand, scouring them and the field hospitals for a certain army surgeon. Several months and one recovered friend later, he was very near the signing of the Armistice, and he saw the guns go silent.

At the age of seventy-nine, he rediscovered afresh what it was like to be alone, and he prayed that loneliness would not last long.

His prayer was answered, and he had the rest of eternity to spend with a friend that had always stuck closer than a brother.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This is one of my favorites. It was also one of the more difficult pieces to write, as it is literally a timeline in narrative form. In my personal canon, Sherlock Holmes was born in 1858 and was 23 when he met Watson—and I had to work my timeline from there. And, for those of you who don't want to bother with the math, this story puts his year of death as being 1937. I like it that way—he and Watson didn't live to see the start of the Second World War. Mycroft, on the other hand… my theory is that the elder Holmes actually made it all the way to V-J Day in 1945. =)

Cookies to whoever figures out the "deadly illness" Sherlock contracted.

Next Thursday… "Suffer." It's actually an only-slightly rewritten piece that _A Study in Stardom_ readers will recognize… ^_^

_**Please review!**_


	42. Suffer

**Author's Note:**

Two important facts I keep forgetting to announce! The first is that I reached 10,000 hits with this collection—almost two weeks ago, as a matter of fact. =P I'm now pushing _13_,000. Thank you all! The second is, technically, the more important: thanks to my lovely beta, I now have a subtitle for the book! It's _At the Mercy of the Mind: A_… nope, wait, I'm gonna let you find out when the book is published. ^_^

*ducks thrown objects*

Ahem, anyway… There's now an update to _A Mother's Heart_, for those of you who've not seen it yet. AMH is a series of vignettes from the POV of Mary Watson as she raises her baby boy.

ALSO, I have begun a brief but _epic_ multi-chaptered fic in the _Sherlock_ fandom, entitled _Avenging Angels_. It's an AU ending and sequel to "The Great Game," starring Mycroft and Anthea and co-starring a small but important array of characters. Please check it out!

Oh, and I almost forgot! Cookies to Moonspun, medcat, Zelle, and DC-JellyBean's for their answer to last chapter's question—it was indeed Culverton Smith's disease from DYIN.

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: (Up early, eh, dear? Hopefully, I can still catch you with this chapter before you get to work! ;D Thanks for the reviews on both my _Sherlock_ fics!) Thank you! Yeah, even though I want Mycroft kicking around that long, I can't imagine what that would be like, losing your _younger_ brother and him being _Sherlock_… *sniff*

Moonspun Dragon: Lol. Yeah, you're tellin' me… Thank you!

Spockologist: Thank you! And me, too—for one thing, it makes Holmes that much more remarkable as well as believable (ever notice that he just plain _acts_ younger in STUD than he does in the rest of the Canon?). And it just makes sense, taking into account college age and years and all.

Joan Jett The Runaway: Heh, actually not… Nice try, though! Thank you!

medcat: Thank you! And thank you for the parenthetical comment—I looked up that disease on Wiki, and it _does_ sound like it could fit Culverton Smith's coolie disease. (Where was that article?)

WanderingChild96: Thank you very much! *blushes*

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Right-o! Thank you! And, awww, want a tissue? *holds out Kleenex box*

DC-JellyBean's: DYIN is one of my favorites, too! However, there are some discrepancies that leave an opening for fanfics to say that Holmes actually _did_ contract the illness, that he wasn't faking at all. So in my personal canon, that's how I write the event. =)

insideouttuoedisni: *grins* Thanks very much!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==42. Suffer==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _Watson did not realise just how bad the memories were for Holmes, until he entered the detective's hotel room on the fourth of May__._  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 310

**Spring 1896: Switzerland**

It was pure bad luck that they found themselves on a case in Switzerland near the end of April. Their first return to that country since the nightmare of 1891 brought back many bad memories to Watson, but he did not realise just how bad the memories were for Holmes, as well, until he entered the detective's hotel room on the fourth of May.

Holmes was curled up in bed, moaning in his sleep.

Watson moved forward to wake him but froze when he heard his name whimpered. Then Holmes began to moan "no" repeatedly, and a tear slipped down his cheek. Unable to bear it any longer, Watson rushed forward and shook his friend.

"Holmes! Holmes, come now, man!" He was unable to keep a note of fear out of his voice.

The detective jerked awake convulsively, and his grey eyes widened when they focused on the doctor. "Watson!" Holmes whispered hoarsely. "It is really you?"

Watson gripped him firmly by the shoulders to give him physical reassurance. "Yes, my dear fellow, it is really me."

Holmes gasped in relief, closing his eyes and falling back upon his bed. "Oh! Oh, thank God!"

Watson settled upon the edge of the bed. "My dear Holmes, what on _earth_ were you dreaming of?"

"Oh, nothing!" Holmes gasped, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if to purge them of the images they had witnessed. "Nothing, my dear fe—"

"Holmes," Watson said quietly, "you spoke my name. You were almost sobbing."

A shudder ran through the detective's spare frame. "I shall be glad when we are back home, that is all," he murmured, quite unconvincingly. He must be much shaken, indeed.

"I shall be in my room, then," Watson said at last. _If you need me_ were the words unspoken but understood.

"…Thank you, Watson."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Awww! So, yeah, this is very largely unedited from the original version in _A Study in Stardom_—basically, it's just the situations that are changed. Instead of going with Granada in 1985 to film FINA, they're on a case in 1896. I have to say, I always, _always_ really liked this story. The sequel will come a few installments later, and the conclusion will appear in the published book. If you don't want to wait that long to find out, you can just read the aforementioned _Study_ (it's on my profile, of course). …No, that really _wasn't_ a plug, lol!

Next Saturday… "Beat." Ah yes, a missing scene from "The Norwood Builder"!

_**Please review!**_


	43. Beat

**Important Announcement:**

Okay, I've got some… ehhh, not exactly good news. Remember that I've been saying "end of May" for the book's release? Weeell, turns out, my beta just can't get the editing done (and trust me, it needs it) by that target date. She can, however, still get it finished by mid-June, so we're looking now at end-of-June at the latest for the release of the book. I have only seven more installments left till I reach the furthest I want to go with AMM online, a full half, and I would like the 50th installment to be able to announce the publication of the book. In order to _do_ that, however, I'll have to post just _**once a week**_. Yep. Hey, I don't really like it any more than you do, but I really want to keep you guys updated without having to check my blog (which, I'm guessing, not all of you do, anyway). I'm thinking of doing this on Tuesdays.

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: Y'know, those blankets and tarts just might help… I know—don't you just want to hug them like poor little boys? Hah, I _did_ catch you before work, though—yay! *gets sudden mental image of Anthea munching on a Golden Delicious apple* Lol. (At least you _have_ an iPad—I don't even have a cell-phone! xD)

Moonspun Dragon: Thanks, hon! And you're welcome! ;D

Spockologist: Absolutely. Poor darling. Indeed, he does! Well, heh, I've only read through the Canon once all the way (last September through to March), so… =)

WanderingChild96: Aw, thank you so much! *blushes* So you're in love with my Watson, eh? *grins* In that case, you may want to check out another of my fics, _A Time to Heal_—the characterization of our beloved duo is rougher and not as fully formed (it's my first SH fic), but you just might like it. ;D And thank you so much for saying you'll buy the book. Actually, did you know that Amazon will let you download a PC version of Kindle, for free? My family doesn't have a Kindle—yet—but we do have the PC version. It works sort of like Adobe Reader.

DC-JellyBean's: Aww, I kind of know how you feel—of all my siblings, only my little sister has any interest in Sherlock Holmes, and even then, I usually only talk with my mom about him. Ha-ha, Mycroft just might be, at that! Thank you!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==43. Beat==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _"Perhaps the police misread something? It would not be the first time."_  
Warnings: deplorable brevity, meh  
Word Count: 196 (see?)

Sherlock Holmes's face was the epitome of intense concentration on our ride that morning to Norwood to see Inspector Lestrade's evidence against the young solicitor, John Hector McFarlane. As always, I left him to his thoughts, knowing that I would get no word out of him unless he desired it.

At length, however, he murmured, "Fresh evidence. If it is evidence outside the grounds, then we might well be beaten. But if it's _within_ the grounds…" His grey gaze remained distant.

I raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. "If it's within the grounds?"

"Watson, I am not perfect, but I would _swear_ on the Bible that I scoured that house thoroughly and could find no extra clues that could possibly condemn McFarlane."

"Perhaps the police misread something?" I suggested. "It would not be the first time."

"No," he said contemplatively, the corners of his mouth twitching. "No, it would not." He flashed me a brief smile. "Well, well, we shall see what we shall see. As Wiggins used to say, ''e ain't got me beat yet.'" He smiled more fully, and I could not help but laugh.

No, Lestrade did not have Holmes beat yet.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I hope I managed to recapture the tone of Watson's writings and Holmes's mannerisms—you know, as if this truly could be a piece of NORW that was simply left out of the published account. …Anyway, the idea of Holmes mimicking a Cockney accent is just adorable (did Jeremy ever do Cockney? I can't recall…).

Also, there's a new chapter up for my Sherlock fic, _Avenging Angels_—please read, do!

Next Tuesday… "Cripple." No, not _that_ kind of cripple—there are lots of ways to be crippled…

_**Please review!**_


	44. Crippled

**Author's Note:**

What I forgot to say last time is that I love Granada's version of NORW, and the scene in 221B before they return to Norwood to see Lestrade's "evidence" is one of the best Holmes-and-Watson scenes in the series, IMO. Poor Holmes is so dejected (he's so perversely cute when he's like that), and Watson is all gentle warmth and concern and encouragement. And then there's the theme for the show, played very softly. It's all so sweet and touching!

In case you haven't seen it yet, I started a new fic collection (yes, yet _another_ one—I'm insane; what can I say?) yesterday, called _Tales from the Great Hiatus_. The premiere tale is a Watson-and-Lestrade humor/friendship piece. Please check it out if you haven't already!

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: Thank you! (Wiggins was the first person who came to mind who'd use the word "beat"—hence Holmes quoting him. Very cute, that. ^_^) …Me like farmers' markets. ;D

Moonspun Dragon: I can't even recall how his voice sounds undercover in NORW; and if I recall correctly, his Escott accent is supposed to be Welsh? Hmm, why would he use a Cockney accent in SIGN… Ha-ha, I'd love to see a story in which Lestrade _does_ have Holmes beat, without the grave consequences of NORW. Thanks!

WanderingChild96: I've only seen a couple of clips of Rathbone as Holmes, but I can't imagine him imitating Cockney, lol. Thank you! (Thanks also for checking out _A Time to Heal_—and that's neat about the name! =D)

DC-JellyBean's: Aww. Thank you!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Thank you!

reflekshun: Thank you! Yeah, I love it how Lestrade accepts his defeats and doesn't waste time on being resentful—all his negative emotions are directed towards the criminals, instead. That makes him awesome.

nomdeplume30: Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews—I think you set a record for Most Reviews for One Person in One Day! =) Well, like I said before, I understand that probably a good half or more of the fandom don't agree with my views on Holmes and romance. But I'm glad you still enjoyed the Aggie story! And I'm glad you had fun with "Cold"! "English gentlemen do not chirp" is indeed one of my favorite lines (of course, the irony of it is that, in my personal canon, Watson is fully Scottish, lol!). Ha-ha, competitive much, indeed.

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==44. Cripple==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _Deprived of it, he feels less of a person, less of a soul. He feels crippled._  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 279

The icy wind wails just beyond the thick wall of the tent. He shivers and stretches out his hand instinctively.

And stops. It isn't here. He left it at home. And home is thousands of miles away.

He lets out a shuddering breath that has nothing to do with the inhuman cold. His brain worked swiftly that day in Switzerland, but it did not work swiftly enough to count the full cost.

On the face of it, it's a trivial matter. He's left something far more important behind in the form of a grieving army veteran. Surely, every other consideration must pale against that.

But such an integral part of himself, such a crucial piece of what makes him, him. Deprived of it, he feels less of a person, less of a soul. He feels crippled.

Never before had he ever considered what such a loss could be for him. The thoughts and emotions, the heart that he dare not show the world—are released through it. Without it, he feels trapped, hedged—a dam filling with too much water and no mechanism for release.

The violin that has witnessed his nearly thirty-four years on this earth—linking lullabies by the cradle, lessons with Mother, unspoken laments for the dead, growing friendship with a flatmate, escapes from the conundrums of cases—is not here. The Stradivarius remains in Baker Street. He does not even know if it escaped damage in Moriarty's desperate attempt to destroy the evidence against him.

His left fingers twitch, and his right hand waves slowly, over an instrument that is not here, the music in his mind merging with the Tibetan wind in eerie harmony.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Crippled. What was I to do with this prompt? Not only Watson's leg was far too obvious, it had been done already in number 30. And since Holmes had already run a gamut of disease, blindness, beatings, and torture, I didn't want to inflict further physical damage upon him. Eventually, the idea of being crippled by loss—the Stradivarius, naturally—occurred to me.

Btw, you have to wonder just how much damage Moriarty's fire did to 221B. Holmes assures Watson "no great damage," but did he still see it happen? Did he get the chance to go inside? My guess is that he probably had no idea as to the state of his beloved violin, only that the first and second floors (his and Watson's rooms) were not burned down.

The Strad is a lovely plot device for themes of haunting, memories, etc. You've gotta love it.

Next Tuesday… "Evil." A pre-Reichenbach FINA piece, akin to "4. Late Nights."

_**Please review!**_


	45. Evil

**Author's Note:**

With all these fics I'm doing this morning, I'm about to kill myself for my stupidity in doing them all at once. Five. FIVE. Go check my profile if you want to see them all—I'm too tired to talk about it anymore. *passes out*

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: *high-five remembering the Strad* Ha-ha, drama kings. Yep, know that. All. Too. Well.

Moonspun Dragon: Yes, I've read SIGN—finished the Canon, remember? Thank you!

Spockologist: Thank you!

WanderingChild96: (No, you didn't review all of it, but that's okay—thanks for letting me know you finished it! Glad you love it!) (About Rathbone) all right, thanks! Thank you!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Thank you very much!

insideouttuoedisni: I know—don't you just want to hug him? Thank you!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==45. Evil==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _"__We came to the Continent to divert Moriarty's attention, but now we are fleeing for our very lives.__"_  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 498

I am… immeasurably grateful… for Watson's presence. I should indeed be lost without my Boswell.

He rarely allows me to see the fear in his eyes that mirrors my own, maintaining, instead, a façade of optimism. I play the game with him,though my optimism, I am ashamed to say, stems more from a narcotic than from my own considerable acting abilities. It is as if we both feel that voicing what we already know to be true will make it truer still.

How utterly ridiculous.

And yet, as has been proven time and time again, I am only a man, fallible and mortal.

Mortal. That word fills me with dread.

I do not fear for myself—not really. I have come close to death many times, one of the closest having occurred only several months ago. I was prepared to die then, and I am prepared to die now. The grave has no hold over me. When my time is come, this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.

So how very inconsistent it is that I _do_ fear death yet. Not for myself but for Watson. I have lost before… people who were very dear to me. Loved ones. Their deaths… nearly broke me.

I do not think I could survive the death of my closest friend, certainly not with my sanity intact.

A selfish sentiment? Likely. But I have long since come to the realization that I cannot go through life alone. Nor do I wish it anymore. I must have a support, an anchor. The world is too insane to challenge on one's own for very long.

The shadow that lies upon us now is indeed a shadow of death, long and inescapable. We came to the Continent to divert Moriarty's attention, but now we are fleeing for our very lives. I understand all too well now John Douglas's "Valley of Fear," for that is indeed where we are trapped. If all the powers of Hell were unleashed upon us, I should not be more terrified. I neither exaggerate nor jest when I say that Professor Moriarty truly is a king devil, just as labelled by Cecil Barker.

It is not fair to Watson—he should never have been dragged into this. I would not have asked him to come had I known at the time that his wife is with child. I have no wish to deprive Mary of her husband, nor the little one within her womb of its father.

It is too late now, of course—too late for all of us, innocent and criminal, to withdraw from the paths we have chosen.

Moriarty is not far behind. I do not know it as irrefutable fact, but I do trust my instinct. He will catch up to us soon. God, deliver us from evil, and if not us both, then let Watson escape. I shall gladly die if he will live.

Deliver Watson from this shadow.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I really enjoy writing angsty stuff from Sherlock's POV. =)

Next Wednesday… "Battle." I give you one word: _Reichenbach_. ^_^ See you then!

_**Please review!**_


	46. Battle

**Author's Note:**

I… will be glad when AMM is finally done and available online. It being in the tedium of post-production, it's getting to be something of millstone 'round my neck, pardon my old-fashioned vocabulary. Fortunately, it's almost 60 percent edited, yay.

Then I have to go through the joy of expenses. It occurs to me that one's first self-published book, especially if one is a first-time author, is a big gamble. When all's said and done, I might only break even. …Please don't misunderstand me and think that I'm trying to guilt-trip you all into buying a copy. I'm just… rambling. And I'm tired. *yawns* I have three updates today: this, _Tales from the Great Hiatus_, and _Avenging Angels_. And for Friday, I have either to write like the devil and whip out installs for said second and third fics and _Becoming the Great Detective_ **or** to drop said second and third and concentrate on the last. If you understood all that, kudos to you.

This is crazy. This installment is the one that I've really been itching to upload! It's one of my favorites! I should be more excited than this! …I need coffee. Eennhhhh…

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: Awww! *hands you tissues… belatedly* Thank you so much, darlin'! *hugs* Ices? YES! The heat was no less than MURDEROUS yesterday. (Do you at least have A/C, 'cause mine is broken?)

Moonspun Dragon: Aww. *hugs back* Lol, no sweat. Yep, eeegg-zactly. ^_^ Thank you!

DC-JellyBean's: I love it, too. =) Thank you very much!

WanderingChild96: Thank you! Here you go!

Spockologist: Thank you very much!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Thank you! *blushes* Yeah, I can't believe it, either—time flies!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==46. Battle==**

Rating: PG  
Summary: _"__The mist of spray half-cloaking the man drawing near might seem cliché were it not for the presence of darkness surrounding him.__"_  
Warnings: …intensity?  
Word Count: 743

The path is too narrow for my liking for any sort of combat. I hurry along the pathway, seeking a wider, safer spot—and find it, at the path's end. The noise of the falls, swollen yet with winter snow, is incessant and, eerily, almost human. The mist of spray half-cloaking the man drawing near might seem cliché were it not for the presence of darkness surrounding him.

I stand unafraid. Watson is safe. Let Moriarty have his way, so long as I may take him down with me.

He halts but a few feet from me, and we take each other's measure one final time. I know not what he reads in my face and posture, but what I read in his—and further, what I read in my own heart—surprises me.

Standing before me is a man with the blood of hundreds—more likely thousands—on his hands, directly and indirectly. A man possessed of so cold and black a heart that I cannot believe any warmth ever existed there. This man has been my greatest foe for the past several years, the man who _personally_ tortured _me_ almost to death but a few months ago.

This man is responsible, ultimately, for my parents' deaths.

And yet, looking upon him now, I see no longer a devil incarnate but a fractured shell of a man. His lifetime of evil has drained him, left him empty inside. The darkness clings yet to him, not as an aura of malevolent majesty, but as the final, desperate shards of a shattered power.

Gazing at the lifeless,iron-grey eyes, it is hard to believe that somewhere inside still beats a heart. Surely, his cruelty, lust, and hate must have consumed it long ago, leaving behind a hollow space—a formidable brain is all that keeps the body alive.

For the first time in my life, I pity him. I pity this man who has wronged me in nearly every way imaginable. I have been described before as inhuman, but it is this thing before me, this broken creature of darkness, that is less than human. He damned his own soul long ago.

Strangely calm, I call him by his full name. "James Moriarty."

Something indefinable flickers momentarily in those hollow eyes. "Sherlock Holmes."

Breathing deeply in an attempt to calm my pounding heart, I assume my boxer's stance. His oscillating head dips down in acknowledgement; and, for a moment, he is still.

Then he rushes at me. I am almost undone in my astonishment, for not only does he know how to fight, but also he is also strong. A former professor, a mathematician, a man more than twice my age—he is strong in his desperation.

My own desperation fuels me as I stumble perilously near the edge of the cliff. What knowledge I possess of the martial arts returns to me now, and I return his assault with a greater vigour than he can match. In a final outpouring of his strength on the edge of the path, he manages to grip me once more, utterly determined either to cast me down or to pull me down with him.

He. Shall. _Not_.

With my own burst of strength, I slip out of his hold and back away, disrupting his balance here on the brink. He screams, and I watch with morbid fascination, hearing in his suddenly terrified voice but a small repayment of the screams of his victims. He tries madly to regain his footing, but the edge is too near and the ground too soft.

For the first and only time, I finally see in his grey eyes a glimpse of a human soul somewhere within, rather than a mask or an emptiness.

And,in that moment, he falls.

It is a sentence as final as any rope.

Breathless, I return to the edge and watch him flail helplessly as he falls. I cannot help but think that there is a certain poetic justice to it, for he is now as powerless to prevent his death as any of his countless victims were. He strikes the stones far below with fatal force and bounds off them to be claimed by the churning waters.

Justice is accomplished, and I am still alive.

My brain races to process all the ramifications, but I can really only move away from the edge and stare up at the blue sky. Thank God.

_I am alive_.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

*shivers* Like I said, one of my favorites. Btw, did anybody notice the absence of something here, something named in EMPT? Give you a clue: it's something that didn't even exist until several years _after_ 1891.

That's right: _baritsu_—actually _bar__**t**__itsu_. Instead, this story uses the vague but far more accurate term "martial arts." This is because I am trying to make my stories as realistic and true to history as possible. That being said, Watson obviously did not always tell the full truth of things in his tales, hence the plot-holes in SPEC and the inconsistencies of FINA and EMPT against VALL. It's possible, then, that he (or Doyle *grin*) gave Holmes's martial arts above the Falls a name for the sake of the story—they just accidentally picked an anachronistic form of fighting.

…Poor Holmes. He's grateful right now, but things are going to be so tough for him in the very near future (see number 8 of this collection: Missing)… But as the old saying goes, while there's life, there's hope!

Next Wednesday… "Chivalry." Ah, yes, a look at Mr. Holmes from the Yard's POV. ^_^ Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	47. Chivalry

**Author's Note:**

I hate heat. _I hate heat_. I HATE HEAT!

Everybody living in the US is aware of the _murderous_ temperatures most of the country has been subject to the past few days. I feel drained and unable to accomplish anything, I can't get to sleep 'til I'm too tired for the heat to keep me awake (getting close to midnight), and I wake up feeling achy and not at all rested. Goodbye, y'all, I'm heading for the Arctic—on _dogsled_, if I have to. Anybody up for the trip?

And to everybody who reads the blog, A NEW POST IS UP. AS WELL AS A NEW STORY IDEA. (To anybody who's coming in late and has never seen my Sherlock Holmes blog, the address is on my profile.)

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: Writing Moriarty (canonical Moriarty, anyway) is always a treat, and writing him at Reichenbach was absolutely wonderful.

Moonspun Dragon: Thank you! =D

Spockologist: Thank you very much! *blushes*

WanderingChild96: Thank you also very much—that really means a lot!

DC-JellyBean's: It's Granada and the story is "The Final Problem," and, yes, the fight scene is a bit… disappointing. But I can't help but focus on poor Watson and his grief.

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==47. Chivalry==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _"How in the name of all that is wonderful did he get that?" Lestrade whispered._  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 279

"Inspector Lestrade, sir!"

Ah, yes, that would be young Sergeant Hopkins with the morning report. "What is it now, lad?"

Hopkins swung into Lestrade's office, grinning. "Mr. Holmes is here with Inspector Bradstreet."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"You have to see it to believe it."

Both eyebrows shot up this time. "This had better be good, Hopkins." Lestrade stood and moved over the door, peering down the hall. There was Bradstreet, further down, and Mr. Holmes with him, his back turned. Lestrade looked to Hopkins, who seemed to be just barely containing himself—the senior detective was fairly sure he had never been _that_ exuberant as a young man.

Then Mr. Holmes was turning, and Lestrade focused on him once more.

And found himself going slack-jawed.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" Hopkins whispered gleefully.

"How in the name of all that is wonderful did he get _that_?" Lestrade whispered back, staring at the ring of purple encircling the amateur detective's left eye.

"You can only imagine that the other bloke caught it worse."

"Mm. So who was the deluded little misfortunate who was idiotic enough to insult Dr. Watson in Mr. Holmes's presence _this_ time?"

"It wasn't about the Doctor this time," Hopkins replied, a tendril of disgust creeping into his tone.

Lestrade turned to stare at the younger man. "Then what _was _it about, man?"

"The deluded little misfortunate insulted _Mrs_. Watson. Called her a fortune seeker or some such rot."

Lestrade's lips compressed briefly. "So Sherlock Holmes _does_ have a sense of chivalry. Bully for him."

Hopkins nodded. "I don't think the bloke'll be able to move on his own for the next, oh, two or so weeks."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This is one of my very best and most favorite shorties! Writing the Yarders—Lestrade, especially—is _so much fun!_ And Holmes coming out on top in a fight while still bearing a black eye is absolutely hilarious! *imagines Jeremy!Holmes looking like that* ^_^ xDDDD

And don't you just love it that… Holmes shows up bruised, and the Yarders immediately assume it was a fight over Watson! =D

Next up… "Drag," a missing scene (sort of) from "The Red-headed League"!

_**Please review!**_


	48. Drag

**Author's Note:**

Well, the day after I declared my Arctic-bound intentions, the weather cooled down. Therefore, the trip is being postponed to a later date—which is okay, 'cause Holmes wasn't picking up when I called him about it. Prolly on a case. Don't want to go on a long trip without him, doncha know! ;D

Okay, here's another plug for my latest blog post. It's been up there for over a week, and the only comment I've gotten on it has been from somebody whose identity I don't even know! In other words, my usual commentators are conspicuously _absent_… *Holmes-esque glare of death*

And for those of you waiting for AMM The Book… ohhh, it is sooo close! Just need to do some final edits with my beta, add the rest of the illustrations, and format it! Then it's off to Kindle~! Wooo-hooooo~!

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: (About Holmes and the Watsons) yup, you know it! =D What? I think the image is rather adorable, 'cause then Jeremy!Holmes gets into that delightfully grumpy mode, and David!Watson patches him up! Fluffy-fluffy-fluff! xD

ElizabethSnow17: Ha-ha, hop aboard! Even in the mountains? Yuck. Thank you!

WanderingChild96: I did hear about Hawaii! Man! Hum, I could think of several reasons for being visited with that heat… and none of them are good things… =/

Joan Jett The Runaway: Oh _wow_, even in _Canada_…? Eep. Thank you! Ha-ha, they are brothers-at-arms…

Mam'zelleCombeferre: *giggles* You just keep acquiring new favorites, don't you? ^_^ The Yarders _are_ fantastic, Lestrade especially. =D Aw, thank you so much! *blushes* Actually, almost at the end of the book version of AMM, there's a longish story that includes Lestrade, Gregson, Hopkins, Bradstreet, and Jones—that one was sooo much fun to write!

SabrinaPhynn: (Holmes: *gratefully accepts the ice pack* "Thank you, my good woman." …Poor sweetie—it probably hurts a lot.) Ooo, traaaain~!

fayfayzee: =D

Spockologist: Would you like it if you were stuck in a house that had hit 90, with no A/C? O.o I don't mind warmth after cold, but I do object to temperatures climbing to 100 outside and being upper 80s on average inside.

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==48. Drag==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _"__Very few men would endure being dragged about the city at all hours of day and night, still fewer _married_ men."_  
Warnings: fluuuffy  
Word Count: 242 without the quote

"_What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few hours?" _

"_I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing."_

—"The Red-Headed League"

The morning began innocently enough with a friendly call to Baker Street. The call turned into an interview with one of Holmes's clients; of course, Watson wouldn't be left out of an adventure if he could help it. A little reconnaissance work concluded the morning, and the afternoon found detective and doctor in St. James's Hall.

Watson had but a few hours that evening with his wife before he had to leave once again at a quarter past nine. No sooner did he arrive at 221B than Holmes was ushering him and two other men out the door, Inspector Jones and a Mr. Merryweather. From there, they made their way to a bank and down into a deep vault.

Several hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, the case was complete, and Holmes and Watson were lounging after the long day, discussing the particulars. At length, Holmes said, "I was glad indeed for your presence today, Watson. Very few men would endure being dragged about the city at all hours of day and night, still fewer _married_ men."

Watson grinned. "It was my pleasure, Holmes, and Mary does not mind it in the least. I must say, though, that I'm not certain _why_ you needed me at all—you _are_ quite capable of taking your own notes."

Holmes arched an eyebrow. "Come now, my dear fellow. Surely your impeccable memory must recall that I am quite lost without my Boswell."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Okay, so, y'know, not one of my better ones. But hey, after bludgeoning myself to figure this one out, I was happy to get just about anything typed out. 'Sides, it's still cute. =) Got to use the Boswell line at the end. ^_^

Next up… ah, yes, "Fall"—the continuation of the dream sequence that started in "42. Suffer." So, yeah, you _Study in Stardom_ readers know what comes next. ;-)

_**Please review!**_


	49. Fall

**IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT:**

_**AT THE MERCY OF THE MIND**_** IS AT LAST PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE!**

Seriously! Here's the URL (or you can link from my profile): **http : / / www . amazon. com / At-Mercy-Mind-Sherlock-ebook/dp/B00570S712/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1308826118&sr=1-1**

Please, please, please, buy, buy, buy! =D Seriously, guys, you'll love it! You will! You can read the rest of the Holmes-captured arch, several early-days pieces, more WWI stuff, and even stories with Cécile! (Oh, and there's a little surprise in the acknowledgements for you lovely reviewers! ;D)

Go get it! Right now! Pleeease! =)

* * *

**Apology:**

I am SO sorry for the delay in updating! In the excitement of _publishing_ AMM, I forgot to _update_ AMM! *facepalm* Oh well, good things come to those who wait, yes? ^_^

* * *

**To my reviewers:**

Elerrina Star: The Boswell line _is_ awfully adorable. =) Thank you!

WanderingChild96: Thank you! Lol, whatever works for you—I just hope you can buy! =)

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Thank you very much! I'm going to miss updating this, too—it's been such a fun experience.

SabrinaPhynn: I would agree with what you said about Mary—thank goodness for her willingness to let her husband go! Mmm, trains. Haven't been on one in ages. Used to be a _major_ train fan when I was little. =D And hey, don't be sorry! You just gotta do what you gotta do, and there's no need to apologize. *hugs* Thank you!

Moonspun Dragon: And what, pray tell, is wrong with that? xD Welp, glad you liked it! Thanks!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==49. Fall==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _As Holmes held the man out over the ledge, reality shifted. Dear God, why couldn't he stop it?_  
Warnings: angst =P  
Word Count: 227

He saw them again that night, Moriarty and Watson. Moriarty held Watson captive on the path above the Falls, the Doctor unconscious and bleeding from a nasty head wound. All that Holmes could do was to plead for his best friend's life, begging that his own life be taken rather than rather than Watson's.

The Professor's eyes glittered cruelly, and, with one sweep of his arm, Watson was in the air and falling, falling, falling…

Though Holmes _knew_ what came next, he could not seem to stop himself as he sprang at Moriarty, determined to cast the Professor off the ledge, justas the man had done to Watson…

As Holmes held the man out over the ledge, reality shifted, as Holmes knew it would. Dear God, _why_ was he so powerless to stop it? As Holmes's fingers were letting go of the Professor, Moriarty's face abruptly became Watson's, and those hazel eyes were begging him not to let go. But Holmes did not—_could not_—react quickly enough, and his hands opened. Clawing desperately to catch Watson, his hands caught nothing but air.

He screamed Watson's name.

The last he saw of his best friend was a sense of betrayal deep in the hazel eyes.

"No! Oh, God, _no!_ No, no, no, no…"

Mercifully, he jerked awake. And, in the darkness of his room, he wept.

_To be concluded in the published version…_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

…unless you wanted to find the _Study in Stardom_ version and read that, instead. ^_^

Okay, now, I don't know if anybody remembers, but back when I posted up "26. Blood," I said that we weren't going to see Cécile again this side of number 50. …Weeeell, I'd forgotten: number 50 _is_ the final Cécile piece this side of 50. *blushes* So, Cécile next week. Or, if you prefer, you can just get the book and go read it now, and come back and tell me all about it next week. ;D

But next Wednesday is the final update, peeps. I'm going to miss this so much.

_**Please review… and buy that book! =)**_


	50. Hide

**Author's Note:**

This is it. _Fin_. _Cursum perficio_. This is The End.

Wow.

It started back in mid-January and now it's finished at last in late June. I have received well over 300 reviews—currently my most-reviewed fic _ever_—15 favorites, and 23 subscriptions. And somewhere between 20 and 30 different people reviewing. Those stats aren't bad—and if it weren't for those stats, AMM would not be out there now in published form!

So, where do we go from here? Well, _you_ should go buy the eBook, first of all (to which you can link from my profile)—it's got so many more great more stories in it that you'll never see otherwise! (There is also a special little treat inside for you regular and semi-regular reviewers!) And you should keep track of my fics here on-site _and_ my blog, which will keep on giving you pertinent info as to future plans, etc. etc.

And me? Well, I'll be catching up on online college and doing research into the Victorian criminal world… and in the fall, I hope to start writing my next book, _which will not appear on FFN_. Nope, any glimpses you want of the coming _Deliver Us from Evil_ series (an epic depicting the events leading up to FINA, the Great Hiatus, and EMPT and the aftermath) will have to come from the on-site _Tales from the Great Hiatus_ and my blog. If all goes well, the first draft could be completed by Christmas, and you could be seeing the book on Amazon this coming winter.

* * *

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: That's okay, I can wait—thanks for letting me know! =) Aww, poor darling! *hugs* Anything you want to talk about in a PM?

Spockologist: Thank you very much! =)

VHunter07: Cavities? Uh-oh, you know that _does_ mean an appointment with Dentist!Sherlock, don't you? He likes to take care of those fluff-induced cavities… xDDD Thank you! (Did the PC Kindle program work properly?)

Joan Jett The Runaway: Yaaay, thank you, and you're welcome!

WanderingChild96: Oops, I forgot to reply to your PM! *facepalm* I'll be sure to do that later, but in the meantime, I'm so very glad you're enjoying it!

Moonspun Dragon: *hugs* Thanks… Nope, not a thing! =D Yeah, me, too… *hugs him* Thank you!

Mam'zelleCombeferre: Your brain almost exploded? O.o Yikes… Well, I'm not sure about "epic," but thank you! *blushes* And thanks for the congrats! I guess I feel, well, a definite sense of accomplishment—after all, not only is it my first work published, but ALL the work on it was done solely by myself and my beta—but that's, unfortunately, been followed up by a little bit of depression. I mean, I knew I wasn't going to be a bestseller overnight, but I still expected the book to do better than, well, less-than-10 sales in its first week. So… *shrugs* dunno…

insideouttuoedisni: Thank you very much! *is happy* I'm really going to miss updating this—seriously! Awww! Well, you can still keep up with my other stuff on-site! *blushes* Yes, Holmes definitely needs a big hug, even if it's from one of his fans. =)

O'FoggageGreen: Heeey! *hugs* You made it! I was afraid you wouldn't! Awww, don't cry! *hands hankie* Holmes will be okay… (There's _too_ much Watson!torture out there and not nearly enough Holmes!torture. ^_^ And it's not that I'm evil, either!) Thank you!

* * *

_© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire._

_All rights reserved._

* * *

**==50. Hide==**

Rating: G  
Summary: _Sherlock looked up this time. "If I could hide from you, I can hide from _anyone_."_  
Warnings: nooone =)  
Word Count: 753

To say that it irritated him would be a grave understatement. Mycroft Holmes, Jr. was, at the tender age of fifteen, an intellectual genius.

_And yet_.

He could not find his own little brother.

Sherlock had challenged Mycroft to a game of hide-and-go-seek, which Mother had forced Mycroft to accept. The elder Holmes brother had now been looking for the younger for three hours, twenty-eight minutes, and forty-two seconds.

In other words, nearly all afternoon.

This was going to drive him mad.

"Mother!" he called as she passed him down the hall.

She stopped and turned, gazing at him innocently. "Yes, Mycroft?"

He was not fooled one little bit: Sherlock's penchant for mischief had been inherited from their maternal parent. "I'm finished with this game," he declared stoutly. "Let Sherlock stay cooped up all day if he likes—I am done."

Cécile Holmes merely arched one aristocratic eyebrow.

"Mother…"

The other eyebrow went up.

Mycroft sighed. "Bl—"

"Watch your tongue," she warned. "Now, go find your brother."

Not even dinner could bring Sherlock out from whatever hole he had crawled into when he was determined. Mycroft, however, was of an entirely different opinion—namely, that meals should be _strictly_ observed at their proper times. Therefore, he left off the hunt for ten minutes to dine and would have stayed there longer had he not been shooed away to continue.

Mycroft considered the interruption of his dinner the insult added to injury.

It was nine o'clock and past Sherlock's bedtime when at last Mother put an end to the game. She led her defeated firstborn upstairs and into Sherlock's bedroom…

"Sherlock Edward Holmes!" Mycroft shouted. "What in the name of all that is sacred _are you doing here?_"

The insufferable child blinked languidly. "Lying in bed, brother mine."

"I can _see_ that!"

Sherlock shrugged, though his grey eyes danced. "Neither of us ever specified if I could move about the place or stay in one spot. I was still hiding from you, and you were still seeking me…" He shrugged again.

Mycroft's face flushed, and he might have done his little brother mild but definite bodily harm had not Mother been there. He forced himself to calm down, and when that task was accomplished, said coolly, "Engage one of the servants in your games, next time."

Sherlock's insouciant grin faded satisfactorily, and Mycroft turned to leave. Mother stopped him in the corridor beyond. "Mycroft," she said sternly, "you were not a perfect child by any means, either. And your brother loves you very deeply."

Mycroft cast a glance back over his shoulder to see Sherlock rather shrunken into his pillows, picking idly at his blanket. "Mother…"

"Mycroft."

He sighed. "Very well, I'll speak with him."

"Thank you."

Mycroft cleared his throat as he stepped back into the room, but Sherlock did not look up. "Sherlock."

"Goodnight," the boy mumbled.

"Sherlock, I'm not here to say goodnight."

Sherlock glanced up briefly but said nothing.

Mycroft heaved another sigh and sat on the edge of the bed. "Why did you want me to play with you? You knew I'd spoil your game."

Sherlock continued to toy with his blanket. "I'm sure you can deduce that for yourself."

The little one wanted _him_ to say it. "Because I'm your brother."

"That _is_ what brothers are for, isn't it?"

"Well, if you can find _that_ in Scripture, I'll agree with you." That elicited a brief smile from Sherlock, and Mycroft counted it a victory.

"It wasn't even only that, you know," Sherlock continued.

"Oh?"

Sherlock looked up this time. "No. You are the smartest person I have ever met, Mycroft—even Father and Mother know you're smarter than they are. And if I could hide from _you_, I can hide from _anyone_."

Mycroft found himself smiling. "Quite possibly."

* * *

Eight-and-twenty years later, Mycroft was perusing the reports of his agents and his brother. Sherlock kept giving Colonel Moran the slip in their chase through Europe.

Mycroft smiled predatorily. An experienced hunter Moran may be, but he was no Moriarty. And if Moran was the hound, Sherlock was the fox. Furthermore, if Sherlock Holmes wanted to remain hidden, no one on earth could find him.

What _did_ worry Mycroft, however, were these reports about Moran committing crimes—murders, mostly—to draw Sherlock out into the open. _Sherlock, it is your game, not his, and _you_ are the master of it. Please, do not act rashly—you have come too far in this game to make a misstep now_.

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

D'awww! … _D'awww!_

Sorry, couldn't help it. My fluffiness astounds even me. ;D …Can you tell that this is drawn off of real-life experience? Not hide-and-seek, actually, but just experience with a lot of siblings a lot younger than I am. ^_^ And though Cécile was only in the story to keep Mycroft in line, it was fun writing her again and writing that side of her. (Btw, in the book, this is the one story that has an illustration including Mycroft—young and almost thin! Mycroft fans just might be interested. ;D)

I reiterate: if you want to see more of Cécile, you _must_ get the book. There are… well, five more stories with her, I believe—and one includes Sherlock as a baby. _That_ one is a must-read. =)

* * *

**A quick trailer for the rest of the book as it is on Amazon:**

* * *

"Don't you give me that look—I'm not as young as I used to be. If you want a human stepladder, bring one of the Irregulars next time. Better still, why don't _I_ look and _you_ give me the lift?"…

Watson merely raised an eyebrow. "If you think for one moment that I would be as shallow as to run off and leave you here while your life is in danger, Holmes—"

"It's a matter of common _sense_, Watson! I shan't leave your wife a widow, nor shall I leave your child fath—" Holmes halted, his grey eyes widening….

"Yes, you are a darling. I still don't know what I was thinking, though, by telling your parents to go to the operetta while the maid is away, leaving you here with an old bachelor."…

Breandán sighed in exasperation. "Sherlock, didn't you look for th' nest?"

"Of course, I did!" Sherlock said in an affronted tone. "But the nest was on the ground and in pieces, and this little one not far from it."…

"It was completely dark."

The children shivered. "And you and Papa had to wait in _that_ the entire time?" asked Hamish….

The other sighed tolerantly. "I am here because _you_ called me here. In seeing this—" he waved a hand to encompass the destruction spread out before them—"you invariably thought of me. My existence on this plane is absolutely dependant upon the impulses of your own mind."…

"Wiggins," I said sternly, returning the item to _my_ pocket, "how am I to trust you for jobs if you nick things from me?"…

Mr. Holmes drew himself up slightly. "I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Inspector."

"Which is why you were caught out in the pouring rain without a proper coat," Lestrade shot back. "What on earth were you doing?"…

"I'm sorry… this is hurting too much, isn't it? I should have thought of that…"

"No!" Watson started weakly at the forceful shout. "No, Watson, don't you dare apologise! I would have it no other way!"…

"Mother, thank God! Are you unhurt?"

"I believe so, yes, but your father—"…

Lestrade's [gun] went off at the same time and felled a third [criminal]. "_Drop it!_" he barked at the last man standing. "Drop it now!"…

"Mr. 'Olmes, yew ain't co-eep—co-ep—"

"Cooperating, Freddie?"

"Aye, that's it, Doc! Yew ain't co-op-er-ayt-in', Mr. 'Olmes!"…

"My dear Lestrade, you have a positively wicked streak in you," Holmes smirked.

Gregson's grey-blond eyebrows shot skyward. "It took you _all these years_ to deduce that?"…

"Mary," she corrected, and that startled him into looking back up at her. She smiled. "My name is Mary, and you have my permission to use it."

* * *

**-END SPOILERS-**

* * *

**And now for a farewell:**

I'm going to miss updating this so much. You don't know just how much. And I'm going to miss these wonderful conversations with you guys! You all have been so fantastic!

AMM has been an incredible experience. It started out as an outlet for my muse's angst, turned into a major hit with lots of variety, and actually turned into a three-month publication project that resulted in my very first book! And you guys have been so very supportive—thank you so very much! Lots of love to you all!

Yes, I'm very sad to say goodbye to it now, and to you guys. But hey, I'll still be around and writing, and you can still keep track of me. To quote my favourite actor: "Upward and Onward!"

_**Please review!**_


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